


All of This Silence and Patience (Pining in Anticipation)

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst, Dumb Hockey Boys, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Wet Dream, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Patrick and Jonny's story starts years before Sid and Geno's, but it takes them a bit longer to find that happy ending.----A sequel toMy Hands Are Shaking From Holding Back From You
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and I make no profit for it. Title is from Taylor Swift's "Dress".
> 
> Once more, this is set in a mafia verse with regency values.

“I could get past you easy,” the boy, Patrick, says. “I’ve got soft hands, and I’m quick. I could skate right by you, and you wouldn’t even notice. You wouldn’t have time to get your stick out and stop me.”

Jonny scoffs and shakes his head. “No way. My defense is great. I could stop you before you even got a shot off. I could stop you before you even crossed the blue line.”

“Yeah?” and it’s a challenge. There’s a fiery light in Patrick’s eyes and a hard set to his jaw that has Jonny standing up straight, shoulders back like Andrée has always taught him.

“Yeah. Anytime, anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that,” Patrick says and walks away with a purposeful stride, eyes fixed on one of the Holland kids.

Ten minutes later, Jonny finds himself captaining a street hockey team. Most of the kids have never played anything more than a hodge-podge game of shinny on backyard rinks, but Jonny doesn’t care. He doesn’t need their help containing Patrick, doesn’t need anyone’s help keeping him out of the goal.

He steps up to take the face-off and can see Patrick out of the corner of his eye, stick in hand and eyes focused on the designated ref, who is ready to drop the ball. All of the playful teasing from before has left his face, and he’s gone quiet, intense. It’s a stark difference, and it pulls Jonny up short for a moment, steals the breath right out of his lungs and leaves him gaping.

Without warning, the ref drops the ball, and Jonny doesn’t have a chance to swipe at it before Patrick’s collected it and taken off towards the goal. He weaves through the players like cones in a drill, darting in and out until he’s in front of Jonny’s goal, winding up to take a shot.

The goalie just barely gets a hand on it, tipping it away and out of bounds.

“You gonna play or just stand there with your mouth open like a loser?” Patrick taunts, running past Jonny, tapping his shins with the blade of his stick.

Jonny shakes himself and follows. He dogs Patrick’s every step, working twice as hard to stay between him and the net, and it’s invigorating. He’s always been better than the other kids at school or in the neighborhood, always one step ahead, making plays and dishing out passes that no one is quick enough to get to. Patrick keeps up with him though. He meets him stride for stride from one end to the other. He’s small but quick, sliding in between players that Jonny has to shove out of the way, and it’s frustrating but amazing.

When the game ends, the other kids beg off another one, saying that it’s too hot to keep playing and that there’s cake and ice cream up in the house ready to be eaten. Jonny scoffs and lets them go, takes the ball to work on a couple of stick handling drills. He rolls it back and forth, kicks it to the back of the blade before chipping it up, and it’s poked right out of the air.

“Do you play on a midget team?” Patrick asks as he collects the ball and passes it back to Jonny.

“No, can’t really do all that traveling around.”

Patrick nods in understanding. “Yeah, it’s the same for me. Sucks, man.”

Shrugging, Jonny chips the ball over to him, watches as he settles it and sends it skidding back over the asphalt. “It’s life. It would be too much of a hassle to send me with an armed guard and that would probably draw a lot of attention anyways. I play on a team with some of the kids from our Family, but we can only play local.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

Patrick hums. “I bet you’ve still got enough teams around that you can play some decent competition. You’re probably too good for them though.”

Jonny can feel himself flush, cheeks going the splotchy red that he hates so much. “You’re good, too.”

A wide grin breaks across Patrick’s face. “I know. You wanna do some one-on-one stuff? I never get any good practice with my team at home. None of them like hockey as much as I do.”

“Sure,” Jonny agrees, and the afternoon fades into evening as they play, battling it out in the waning light. It’s like playing with Sid but different. There’s the same cut-throat competitiveness, but Patrick’s playing style is centered around his small size and soft hands, and it makes him hard to catch and harder to keep pinned in one place.

By the time the sun has settled beyond the horizon, Jonny’s stripped out of his dress shirt, tossing it haphazardly beside the suit jacket and vest he had discarded earlier, and his feet ache from running in his oxfords. Patrick’s got the ball and is trying to spin past him, but Jonny hadn’t lied when he said his defense was solid, and he’s giving back as good as he gets, plastered to Patrick’s back as he fights to get the puck.

 _“Jonathan!”_ he hears, sharp and shocked, and no one ever calls him that unless he’s in trouble. He spins to see his maman watching from the yard with a horrified look on her face, and not even Patrick’s crow of triumph when he scores can distract Jonny from the sinking feeling in his gut. _“Get over here right now, young man,”_ she orders and gathers his discarded clothes. There’s another woman coming up beside her, petite and unassuming but with a familiar fire in her eyes.

“Patrick Timothy Kane, come here,” she yells, and Jonny can see Patrick wince.

 _“Maman, what is it?”_ he asks, quickly making his way to Andrée’s side, worried that something has happened to Dad or one of his siblings. _“Is something wrong?”_

 _“Is something wrong? Is something wrong? Jonathan, what do you think you are doing out here?”_ She pulls the shirt around his shoulders and shoves his arms into the right holes. Jonny hasn’t needed anyone to dress him in years, but she doesn’t let up, fastening the buttons all the way to the throat and layering the vest and jacket on after.

_“Just playing hockey, Maman. It’s not a big deal. We had a whole game going earlier, but everyone was complaining that it was too hot to keep playing, so Patrick and I stayed out here to do some one-on-one stuff. He’s really good.”_

Andrée lets out an indignant huff. _“Oh my God, we are going home right now. We will talk about this on the plane. Stay here while I go apologize to Mrs. Kane._ ”

Confusion swirls in Jonny’s gut. They were playing hockey; there’s nothing wrong with that. Andrée lets them play outside all the time, even encourages them to.

He strains to hear what she’s telling Mrs. Kane, but he only catches bits and pieces.

“…never seen that before…”

“He didn’t know…”

“…his shirt off.”

“I’ll talk with him.”

“…so young…doesn’t know…”

“I am so sorry. This won’t happen again,” Andrée says before bidding Mrs. Kane goodbye.

Jonny falls into step beside her and isn’t surprised to see a car already waiting to take them to the airport. The drive is dead silent, only the hum of the engine and the tick of the turn signal breaking the quiet, and Jonny feels dread settle in his stomach like a rock, weighing at him with each mile of silence.

When they’re in the air, headed back to Chicago, she finally speaks up. _“Do you remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago?”_

Jonny racks his brain but doesn’t know how to answer. They talk a lot. She could be referring to a lot of different conversations.

_“About how you’re growing up and therefore need to be more careful with yourself and with your body.”_

_“The sex talk?”_ Jonny asks, incredulous. _“What does that have to do with anything? We were playing hockey, Maman. There’s nothing really sexy about that.”_

Andrée sighs. _“Jonathan, Patrick Kane is a carrier.”_

 _“What’s wrong with that?”_ Jonny snaps, defensive. _“Sid’s a carrier. That’s not important. It doesn’t stop them from being good at hockey, even if there are assholes who say it does.”_

 _“No, chéri, I know that,”_ Andrée tells him. _“But I’m not talking about hockey. I’m talking about you, a young teenage boy, being alone with a carrier all afternoon and evening. Mon petit, everyone else had come in hours before you, and I just thought you were running around the house with all the other kids. It wasn’t until Donna asked where Patrick was that someone told us you were still outside playing._

 _“And it was already bad enough to hear that you were alone with the carrier son of one of the other dons, but when we came outside and you were stripped down to your slacks,”_ she inhales sharply. _“Donna was furious when she saw you all over her son—”_

_“We were playing hockey!”_

_“Jonathan, you are the heir of a powerful and influential Family, the future Don of the Chicago Mafia. It is not nor will it ever be appropriate for you to be running around with a carrier without a chaperone, especially not when you’ve decided to pull half your clothes off.”_ She sighs, heavy and disappointed, and Jonny hates letting her down. _“Chéri, I know you’re still young and that it was just hockey. I know nothing was happening, but it didn’t look good. You two had been outside alone for hours. You were half naked, and Patrick was disheveled. If someone else had come out instead of me and Donna, there could have been far more serious problems to address.”_

 _“We were just playing hockey,”_ Jonny repeats, forlorn.

 _“I know. I know that, but these kinds of things can be twisted and used against you. People could look down on Patrick, see him as an easy slut that will let anyone touch him.”_ The bald-faced, vulgar words shock Jonny. _“They could see you as an unfaithful partner, someone who’s just looking for an easy lay. Jonathan, though you may still feel young, people do not look at you as a child anymore. They will no longer give you the benefit of the doubt or overlook some of your less mature qualities.”_

 _“But that’s not fair!”_ Jonny exclaims, frustrated by the rules and limits placed on him. _“Patrick and I were just playing hockey. We weren’t going to do anything. I wouldn’t even want to do anything. I don’t like boys, and I don’t like him.”_

_“That does not matter, Jonathan. Our intentions rarely influence others’ perception, so you must be very careful to never let yourself get caught in that kind of situation again. Next time, you may not be so lucky.”_

He wants to protest, wants to scream and rant about how unfair it is, how much he hates being the son of a Don, always watched, always criticized. He doesn’t feel like he can tie his shoes or brush his teeth without someone telling him he is doing it wrong or not living up to the Toews name.

 _“It’s not fair,”_ he mutters, slumping in his seat to glare out the window.

_“I never said it was, chèr. I wish you could act like any other boy your age, running around with friends and playing hockey until you can’t even see the ball anymore, but you aren’t. You are special and important, and someday, many people are going to rely on you. They are going to look to you for guidance and for protection. You won’t want to let them down, so starting now, you need to work on becoming the person they can trust. Being a sexually responsible person is part of that, so please, do not ever allow yourself to be alone with a woman or a carrier again.”_

The words don’t make him feel better; they don’t lessen the fierce anger roiling in his gut, but he knows he can’t change anything. He can almost hear Q telling him, “You don’t have to like the rules, but you do have to live by them.” Slowly, he rises from his slumped position, straightening his back and turning to look at his maman.

_“I understand, and I apologize for putting you in the position I did. I did not know Patrick was a carrier, otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed outside.”_

Andrée’s features go soft and a little sad. _“Oh, mon petit, you are going to be a good don someday. I know it.”_ She reaches out and cards her fingers through his hair. _“You will be great.”_

Jonny smiles and tries to look as sure of those words as she is.

When they land in Chicago, it’s late, and Jonny fights not to yawn on the drive home, knowing Bryan will be waiting to hear a report about the trip. He dreads the conversation as Andrée will expect him to talk about what happened with Patrick, but he’s still too embarrassed to think about it, let alone talk about it.

 _“Jonny, why don’t you head to bed?”_ Andrée suggests, nudging him towards the staircase. _“It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you could use the rest.”_

 _“But I need to give Dad a report,”_ he protests, weakly.

_“Why don’t you let me handle that for tonight? If he has any questions, he can ask you in the morning.”_

It’s a cop out, and if he weren’t so tired, maybe he would say no, but he feels raw and vulnerable, like someone cut him open to take a look inside and didn’t sew him shut quite right, so he only nods and trudges up the stairs, hoping someone already took his suitcase to his room.

A door creaks open when he walks past, and Sid pokes his head out. “You’re back early,” he observes, tone neutral.

“Didn’t really see the point in staying once the party was over,” he shrugs, and he feels bad lying to Sid, but he also can’t imagine telling Sid what happened. Sid’s the golden boy, the wonder kid who would never be caught dead alone with someone he shouldn’t be.

“Okay,” Sid says, slow and careful, and he eyes Jonny like he knows that’s not the whole story, but he doesn’t push it. “Do you wanna go for a run tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Jonny answers, immensely grateful as Sid shuts his door with a whispered good night.

Crawling into his own bed, he can’t help but think about the day, too mentally exhausted to fend off the onslaught of thoughts. He’s embarrassed, mortified to have been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he’s also angry because he didn’t know. Patrick never announced that he was a carrier, and despite what the sexist dicks at his school say about Sid, you can’t actually tell someone is a carrier just by looking at them, so it’s not his fault he continued playing with Patrick alone. He would have asked for a chaperone or gone inside if he had known.

But he didn’t. He didn’t know, and their mothers caught them, and Jonny would be surprised if Donna Kane, with her wild eyes and clenched fists, ever lets him speak to Patrick again. And that’s the worst part of all because Patrick is good at hockey, so damn good, and Jonny never gets to play against someone like that, never gets to test himself against any real competition besides Sid and the infrequent traveling players that are actually good enough to go against him. In Patrick, he had found an equal, someone to pit his strength against or with, though he’ll never know what it’s like to play on a line with him because Mrs. Kane would rip his head off if he even tried.

He falls asleep thinking of the smooth, toe drag move Patrick had pulled off that would probably look even better on the ice.

\----

“Stop it! Jonny, stop. You’re cheating!” Patrick laughs, tripping over Jonny’s stick where he’s trying to poke the puck away from him.

“No way, this is fair game,” Jonny answers. He’s almost got Patrick cornered against the boards. He just needs to close in on his left side, and then he’ll be stuck, and Jonny can get the puck back and score. One more goal and he wins this round.

“Is not,” Patrick huffs, elbowing at Jonny to get some space to move the puck out and into the net. “Get that stick in here anymore, and I’ll be forced to call you for hooking,” he says, light and flirty, looking over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows at Jonny.

It shocks him, and he loses his balance, falling to the ice. He catches Patrick’s arm on the way down, pulling him off-balance, too.

When they land, it’s soft, and Patrick’s somehow managed to fall on top of him, legs bracketing Jonny’s hips. There’s nothing but a couple pairs of thin shorts between them, and Jonny’s never felt anything better than Patrick’s weight, warm and heavy over him.

“Definite hooking call,” Patrick grins and bends to kiss Jonny, mouth just as soft and sweet as Jonny imagined it would be. He’s got a hand tangled in Patrick’s curls, the other trailing over his ass to a promising wet spot.

“You all wet for me, baby?” Jonny mutters, fingers working against the slippery fabric until Patrick moans. “Yeah, you are. You’re so wet. God, that’s hot.”

“Jonny, Jonny,” Patrick repeats, pushing back to meet his fingers. “Stop teasing. I want it. Come on, give it to me.”

Jonny chuckles and nips at Patrick’s pouty lips, fingers slowing. “What do you want, baby? You know you’ve got to use your words.”

Patrick bites back, teeth scraping over the skin of Jonny’s jaw, and he shudders. “You know what I’m talking about, asshole.”

Jonny tuts and pulls back, stretching his arms up and crossing them behind his head. “I’m not sure I do. Wanting it could mean an awful lot of things. You’re going to have to be a little more specific if you want any help from me.”

Growling, Patrick sits up and wiggles out of his shorts, tossing them over the side of the bed. “I want you,” he begins, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Jonny’s shorts to pull them down, “inside me,” he kneels over Jonny, legs stretched wide over his thighs, “right now. I’ve wanted this since I met you, and now I can finally have it. If you don’t want to help, fine, but I’m getting off on your dick either way,” he says.

He sinks down in a single, fluid motion.

Jonny jerks upright, gasping, fingers clenching in his sheets as pleasure courses through him. He’s disoriented, can still feel Patrick over him and around him, but he’s alone in his room, in his bed, come sticky in his briefs, and he’s so confused. It had felt so real: the chill air of the rink, the soft sheets of an unfamiliar bed, and the tight, wet warmth of Patrick surrounding him, but it was a dream.

The come is real though and so is the pleasure still thrumming in his veins, and it’s because of Patrick. Patrick who is a boy and a carrier and the one person Jonny absolutely cannot have a crush on, not after what happened in Detroit last month.

He flops back against his pillows and considers staying in bed for the rest of the day, but the come’s starting to cool, and it’s an awful reminder of the best dream Jonny’s ever had, so he throws himself out of bed and runs to the shower, hoping to drown himself in the hot spray.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonny tries to forget the dream. He throws himself into school and hockey, ignores the morning wood or the wet spot that follows a dream about Patrick, and pretends none of it ever happened. He had told Andrée he wasn’t interested in boys, had promised that nothing had happened with Patrick, and it had been the truth. Telling them that he is maybe interested in boys and in Patrick in particular, would bring everything back up.

There would be questions about that day, questions about what Patrick and Jonny had actually done outside while the other kids ran around the house. Sure, Jonny knows the truth, knows that nothing had happened, but people would talk. They would gossip about Jonny running around shirtless and Patrick letting him press up against him. They wouldn’t care that it had been hot that day. It wouldn’t matter that Jonny had been after the ball and not Patrick. People would only see two hormonal teenagers grabbing at each other in the haze of twilight.

Jonny doesn’t want that reputation, doesn’t want it for Patrick either, so each time they cross paths, he is polite but distant. He smiles only as much as civility demands, always makes sure there are a few people between them, and withdraws from the conversation when Patrick’s enthusiasm becomes too much.

“Are you ignoring me?” Patrick asks one day, cornering Jonny in the sitting room of some Don’s home, eyes a bright, angry blue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No way, man,” Patrick says, grabbing at Jonny’s elbow. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. Now, let me go.”

“No.”

“Patrick, we can’t be alone in here,” Jonny insists, the first hints of panic tinging his voice. “We need a chaperone of some kind.”

Patrick snorts, derisive. “Chaperones are for courting, Jonny, and from the way you’re acting, that’s not something that’s ever going to happen for us.”

Sputtering, Jonny jerks his arm free of Patrick’s hold. “Do you want something to happen?”

“Do I want—Of course I fucking want something to happen!” he snaps. “I’ve wanted something to happen since I met you in Detroit, and you were the only kid who could keep up with me. Fuck, Jonny, why the fuck do you think we keep running into each other at these stupid events? Every time my dad mentions that someone from Chicago is going to be attending, I ask if I can be there.”

“Why would you do that?” Jonny demands, voice rising to meet Patrick’s.

Panic and fear rush through him, every awful scenario taking form before his eyes. Patrick asks to come to events with someone from Chicago, the Kanes have to have figured out what that means. Jonny feels the same terror of that first day, an animalistic fear that nearly has him cowering.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Patrick demands. “God, Jonny, don’t be stupid. You have to know I’m into you. You’d have to be pretty fucking stupid to not realize that.”

“And you’d have to be pretty fucking stupid to think that we could ever be together! Your mom would castrate me if I even tried to talk to you.”

“My mom?” Patrick repeats, shocked. “The fuck? What are you talking about?”

“Your mom, Donna Kane, the woman who looked like she was about to tear me apart when she found us that day. There’s no way…she would never…” Jonny trails off, anger edging into sorrow at the reminder that he and Patrick never stood a chance.

“Jonny,” Patrick whispers, soft and tender, and he steps forward to…to do something, but Jonny doesn’t give him the time. He bolts out of the room, sprinting down the hallway, and barricades himself in a bathroom until his heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to thunder out of his chest.

He avoids Patrick for the rest of the event and every subsequent one, excusing himself each time Patrick takes a seat at his table or ducking out of rooms when Patrick enters. It hurts, but with time, he tells himself, the pain will fade.

It’s at an open house for a new dance studio serving underprivileged kids in Columbus that Patrick traps him again. He was walking down a deserted hallway, looking for the bathroom, when a door had swung open, and a hand had reached out to drag him in.

“The fuck?”

A light flicks on, and Patrick is standing there, curls limned in the glow of a single, bare bulb, looking murderous.

“Shut the fuck up and listen, Jonny,” he orders, jaw set, slighter frame angled between Jonny and the door. “Because I don’t know what the hell is going on in that head of yours, but I’ve had a lot of time to think since we last spoke, and I think we need to set some things straight.”

Jonny opens his mouth and is met with a firm palm over his lips.

“No, I said shut up, and I meant it. You’ve already said enough, and I can’t have you opening your big, dumb mouth again because you’re just gonna do more damage.” He waits for Jonny to nod his assent before dropping his hand. “Detroit was years ago,” he starts, and the fear rips through Jonny without warning.

“I know my mom was pissed off in the moment, but let me tell you, she was a hell of a lot more upset with me than she was with you. As much as I don’t like it sometimes, I’m a carrier, and that means I can’t just act like one of the guys. You had no idea who I was. She couldn’t hold you responsible for being alone with me because you thought I was just any other guy and I let you think that.

“She grounded me. I couldn’t go on visits for months because she was worried I would put myself in the same situation, and she wouldn’t be there to stop me. I hated it, but I understood why she did it. There’re a lot of people who would have used that against us, who would have spread rumors to discredit our Families or leveraged it to get a better deal in negotiations.

“She never held it against you though. If anything, she used you as an example to show me how careful I had to be because no one knew I was a carrier unless I told them. She’s not mad at you, Jonny.” Patrick looks sheepish. “She actually thinks you’re pretty great, always talks about that nice Toews boy from Chicago, the one who always looks so serious.”

Jonny sputters in shock, taken aback by the words. There’s no way it’s true. There’s no way Mrs. Kane doesn’t still hate him with the ire of a scandalized mother. “There’s no way,” he finally chokes out around the lump in his throat.

“No way? Jonny, you turn eighteen next year. Everyone knows that, and if I have to hear one more matchmaking mom talk about how much she wants Jonathan Toews to court her daughter, I am going to murder someone.”

“But I’m not courting anyone anytime soon!”

Patrick scoffs. “You won’t have a choice, Jonny. Even if you don’t pursue anyone, they’ll come after you, all well-meaning and curious, dropping hints about their of-age children, hoping to get your attention.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to court anyone.”

A single, blonde brow raises, and Patrick shakes his head. “Don’t be naïve. We both know how little our own wants and desires mean in all of this.”

“If that’s really the case, then why are you even trying for something between us?” The fear and anger have dissipated, and all Jonny feels is a peculiar curiosity.

“Because I like you, Jonny. You’re a good guy, a little stubborn and bull-headed but that makes you loyal, and you actually care about the people under you. You’re not all about making money and getting more power, and I mean,” he pauses, a light blush on his face, “it doesn’t hurt that you’re…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, just gestures at Jonny, waving his hand up and down as if that’s a meaningful end to his sentence.

“That I’m what?” Jonny asks, brow furrowed.

Patrick’s eyes flick up to meet his, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Jonny can’t help but track the movement with his eyes. “Fucking hot,” Patrick finally murmurs, and his pupils are so big, wide and dark, and Jonny can’t deal with this right now.

He can’t deal with the heated look Patrick is giving him or the small space that separates them or the fact that he’s never gotten this hard this fast before. He’s dizzy from the heat of the small room and the blood rushing south. He needs to leave. He needs to go right the fuck now. He needs to find a bathroom and stick his head under the freezing faucet because if he doesn’t he’s going to end up doing something his maman will never forgive him for.

“I—I can’t…we can’t.” Patrick is closer than he was before, just a breath away, and Jonny could probably count every one of his long lashes if he wanted. He doesn’t. Well, he does, but he shouldn’t.

He fumbles for the doorknob, fingers blindly groping until he catches the handle and throws himself out into the hallway. By some miracle, no one is around, and Jonny shoots Patrick one last look before bolting like a coward.

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, he finds Bryan and tells him that the fish from dinner isn’t sitting well with him. He isn’t proud of the lie, isn’t proud of the hasty retreat he’d made when faced with a wanting Patrick Kane, but he knows it was for the best.

He can feel Patrick’s gaze on him as they make the goodbye rounds, sharp and assessing, and he hunches his shoulders against it.

He thinks that’s the end of it, tells himself that Patrick will give up on him because Jonny’s a cad who will never be good enough for him, but during a charity ball in Toronto, he finds himself in the library of the Great House, staring Patrick down.

“Hear me out before you try and run again,” Patrick tells him.

Jonny knows he should refuse. He’s eighteen now, legal in the eyes of the Families and the law; being caught alone with Patrick would be far worse now. But this time, Patrick doesn’t sound angry or frustrated, just desperate, and Jonny doesn’t understand why.

“This is a bad idea. If someone walked in right now, you’d be labeled a harlot.”

There’s a quiet snick, and Patrick steps away from the door, holding an old-fashioned key up in the dim light. “No one can get in if the door’s locked.”

Jonny resists telling him that being discovered in a locked room is even worse.

“Hear me out, okay?” Patrick pleads. “If you do, and you decide you still don’t want anything to do with me, that’s fine. I’ll accept it, and I’ll walk away. You won’t ever have to hear from me again.” He swallows audibly, and his voice shakes a bit as he continues, “But if there’s any chance that you might feel the same way…”

Jonny waits for him to go on, but he doesn’t. They stand in silence, and this is so different from the last time they met, Jonny panicked and Patrick furious, yelling at each other in a maintenance closet. Patrick is quieter, calmer, and he keeps a respectable distance between them.

“I’m listening,” Jonny finally tells him.

Sighing, Patrick pockets the key and stands up straight, shoulders back as he faces Jonny. “I’ve known my whole life that I am expected to marry for the benefit of my Family. As a carrier, I’m considered special and better than everyone else, even though I’ve never felt that way.

“I’ve definitely felt different, separate from everyone else, but it’s never been a good thing. I’ve always been told how pretty I am with my ‘soft curls and baby blue eyes’, how small and delicate I am, how my pretty, pink mouth will make my husband very happy someday.” Patrick’s words are hard, bit off with the anger of someone who’s been walked on far too often and expected to accept it. “I’ve been told I shouldn’t talk back so much, that I need to be docile and quiet because that’s how you please a man. I’ve been told to get off of the ice, to go home and learn how to cook and clean like a good wife.

“When we first met, I didn’t realize you didn’t know. I mean, everyone knew, so I assumed you did, too. By that point, I just kind of expected people to taunt me or tell me I couldn’t play hockey, but you didn’t do that. No, you just told me you were better. Not because you were a real man or some shit like that but because you were more skilled, and I couldn’t believe it. I knew who you were; I knew who you would be some day, and I couldn’t believe that a future don was willing to play against me.

“God, it was so nice to just play hockey without hearing taunts about the other kinds of stick I should be handling or the better uses for my mouth. It was just me and you.” He sighs wistfully. “That was the best afternoon of my life, just running around with you like any other guy would. I realize it’s stupid now because you didn’t know any better, but my thirteen year-old self sure didn’t mind when you started pulling all your clothes off in front of me like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Jonny can feel himself flush at the memory, skin hot at the thought of Patrick watching him.

“I thought you meant something by it, and I…I thought about it. A lot.” He’s careful with his words, but Jonny can read behind the lines. His brain grinds to a halt as an image of Patrick spread out on a bed, getting off while thinking about Jonny, flickers in front of his eyes. “But then you ignored me. Even after things died down with my parents, you wouldn’t talk to me. You always left with some flimsy excuse, and I realized it hadn’t actually meant anything.

“I felt like such an idiot for ever thinking that anything could happen, but I was also mad at you for leading me on. I mean, I know you didn’t because you didn’t actually know who I was, but it still fucking hurt to realize the guy I liked was embarrassed to even be seen near me.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” Jonny protests, and Patrick shoots him a doubtful look. “I mean, I wasn’t embarrassed of you.”

“Thanks,” Patrick responds drily. “Anyways, I was hurt because I thought you weren’t into me, and I was angry because you were avoiding me instead of just saying it to my face, so I confronted you, and you were all defensive and rude, and I thought you were a total dick, but then, you mentioned my mom, and I was confused because you didn’t look angry; you just looked upset or, or disappointed, and that threw me for a loop.

“I couldn’t figure out what the hell you were talking about for the longest time, but then I brought it up to my mom—”

“You did what?” Jonny interrupts, voice strained.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Patrick reassures him. “I just brought it up one day, all casual like, ‘Hey mom, remember that one time you caught me and Jonathan Toews playing hockey by ourselves, when he was half-naked? Wasn’t that hilarious?’ And she was like, ‘It is now. I was totally pissed in the moment because he was rubbing all up on you like he wanted to get you out of that stupid, wool suit.’”

“Is that a direct quote?”

“Definitely,” Patrick grins. “Anyways, then she said, ‘He’s a good boy though. He didn’t know you were a carrier, so I really can’t hold it against him. He’s never tried anything since, and from everything I’ve heard, he’s grown up into quite a handsome young man. In fact, he’s only a little older than you. Maybe we should try and make some in-roads with Chicago, see if something could come of it. Lord knows that boy is probably one of the only people who could handle you.’ So I decided to talk to you again—”

“You mean trap me.”

“I do not. I decided to talk to you again, but I know I didn’t go about it the right away. I wasn’t giving you space, wasn’t letting you think. I was essentially forcing myself on you, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You didn’t do anything though.”

“Just like you didn’t do anything in Detroit.”

“That’s different.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

Jonny falters, unable to come up with an answer as Patrick watches him, defiant and proud. “I don’t know. It just is.”

“No, it’s not, and actually, you could probably even argue that it was worse because I knew exactly who you were and what we were doing.”

Jonny doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t know what he could say to make Patrick see reason, see that Jonny is at fault, that he’s the one responsible for the whole mess.

“Jonny,” Patrick murmurs, and it feels intimate, despite the space that separates them. “Don’t beat yourself up for it, please. Maybe you should’ve known that I was a carrier, but maybe I should’ve told you that instead of taking advantage of the situation to feel like a normal kid. You aren’t responsible for what happened, and even if you were, I think you’ve more than paid your dues on that front.

“Let it go. I have. My mom has, and I’m sure your mom has, too. So what’s holding you back? If you don’t like me like that, just tell me. If you’re not interested in guys, just tell me. I won’t hold it against you. Like I said, I’ll leave you alone if you don’t want me around,” he finishes, soft and vulnerable.

Jonny’s mouth opens and closes uselessly, no sound emerging, and Patrick’s shoulders slump.

“Right,” he says, “I’m not going to waste anymore of your time. I’m sure there are plenty of wonderful girls waiting for you to ask them to dance, and I bet you’d have a lot more fun with them than you would listening to me whine about my life.” He fishes the key out of his pocket and slides it into the lock.

“Wait! Wait, please.”

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t face Jonny, but he also doesn’t turn the key and walk out.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Patrick groans. “Just tell me the truth, man. You don’t need to let me down easy or anything. I’ve already cried over this enough. I’m not sure I’ve got any more tears left, so just say it like it is.”

“You’ve cried about this?”

“Not the point.”

“Yeah, but you’ve…” Jonny pauses because he’s not sure how to continue, just knows that it hurts to think of Patrick crying over this. “I’m not worth your tears. I’ve been a dick to you, and I honestly don’t know why you didn’t give up on me ages ago.”

Patrick snorts.

“I can’t say I feel the same way,” he begins, and Patrick looks away. For all his talk, Jonny can see tears shining in his eyes. “No, shit, that came out wrong. I don’t mean that I don’t like you. I just, I mean, I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to make me feel better, Jonny.”

“I’m not. Patrick, I swear to God I’m not lying,” and he wants to go over and shake him or hug him or just do something to make Patrick believe him. “I really don’t know. I’ve…I’ve spent so long not thinking about this, pushing it away and avoiding it, that I don’t know how I feel because I haven’t given myself the chance to feel anything.

“You’re so ahead of me in this. You’ve had the time to think about it and to figure things out, and I haven’t. I need some time to think about this. I need some space to figure out what I want. Please, Patrick, just give me some time,” and he know he sounds pathetic, begging like this, but he’s overwhelmed with everything Patrick has told him, inundated with information and feelings that he can’t make heads or tails of.

Patrick nods, resigned. “Sure. I’ll be at Sid’s wedding next month. You can tell me what you want then, and if that’s not me, my parents can start deciding whose visit requests to accept.”

The thought of Patrick with anyone else makes Jonny nauseous, his stomach twisting up as he imagines someone else touching Patrick and kissing him, marrying him and starting a family together. He wants to object. He wants to forbid Patrick from even thinking of accepting any other candidates, but he knows how selfish that would be. He has no right to ask that of Patrick, especially when he himself isn’t willing to offer anything in return.

“Deal,” Jonny says, and he holds out a hand for Patrick to shake. “I’ll give you my answer at the reception.”

“Deal,” Patrick agrees. He doesn’t smile, but he no longer looks on the verge of tears, and Jonny will take it.

He watches Patrick slip out the doors, heading back to the ballroom, and he collapses into one of the armchairs littered around the room, worn out from the conversation and the thoughts whipping around his head.


	3. Chapter 3

He thinks about their conversation often, turning Patrick’s words over in his head, trying to make sense of it all and to parse out his own feelings. Not even the stress of wedding preparations and Sid’s kidnapping are enough to take his mind off of Patrick.

His maman starts asking if he’s feeling alright, if his stomach is giving him trouble again. David often suggests they go play ball hockey to destress, and Sid watches him with worry in his eyes, frowning just the slightest bit.

Jonny is happy for him; he is. He’s thrilled that Sid found someone who respects him and treats him as an equal, and he’s glad to welcome Geno into the family. Once he got over the fact that Geno was stealing Sid away from them, he wasn’t so bad. He’s friendly and funny and plays hockey well, even if his choice of team kind of sucks. And Jonny doesn’t want to be the downer, the long face at the party, but he can’t help the hints of resentment and jealously that fester in him each time he catches Sid and Geno curled up in front of the TV or racing around the rink together, happy and carefree. They’re the lucky ones, a love match that actually worked out.

He knows he’s short-tempered and poor company in the days leading up to the wedding, and he knows Sid is taking it personally, but he’s going to see Patrick at the wedding, and as much as he’d like to think they could work out, too, Sid and Geno are the exception, not the rule. If he decides he wants to try things with Patrick, he knows he’s going to get invested, and when his parents or Patrick’s parents decide it’s not a good match, he’s going to hate them for it and hate any other girl or boy that’s presented to him because he’ll forever be comparing them to Patrick.

Every time Sid tries to broach the topic, Jonny shies away from it, claiming he needs to go help Bryan with something or that he has work he needs to see to. He knows he’s hurting Sid, pushing him away for having what Jonny wants, but he also knows that Sid’s the one person he could talk to about this, and he doesn’t want to weigh him down with his own problems and spoil the joyful atmosphere that’s permeated the house as they prepare things.

If Jonny’s a stubborn ass though, Sid’s an obstinate elephant, unwilling to give in and impossible to move. With the same tenacity that gets him the greasy goals right in front of the net, he pulls the story out of Jonny, discarding the half-truths and rooting out the real story. He picks apart his arguments, dissects his thoughts, and cuts down his logic like he does plays, and Jonny feels raw from it.

He didn’t want to lay it all on Sid, especially not right before his wedding, but it’s d-day. Patrick is waiting in the church. He expects Jonny to give him an answer at the reception, and he’s ready to tell his parents to find him someone else if Jonny doesn’t want him. The thought of losing Patrick paralyzes him. He doesn’t want to see him with someone else, but he also doesn’t want to face the heartbreak of being told he can’t be with him.

“No what if’s, right?” Sid says, and Jonny hates this. He hates that he doesn’t know how Andrée and Bryan will react, hates that he’s not certain of his future like Sid is, hates that he can’t just choose Patrick and move on because he needs to follow ‘the rules that have kept the order among Families for centuries’.

He swallows down the fear threatening to choke him and answers, “No what if’s.”

Andrée rushes up to them then and looks Sid over, hands clasping his face as she coos about how grown-up and handsome he looks. Jonny steps away, allowing them to have their moment.

“You’d fit in better at a funeral than you do here,” someone says, and Jonny turns to see Bryan eyeing him.

“I’m fine,” he responds and cringes at the defensive tone of voice. He still feels a little trapped, hemmed in by the stone walls of the church and the last few hours he has before Patrick leaves him behind, fed up with his cowardess.

“You don’t look fine, kid.” Jonny shrugs, and Bryan sighs, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “You’re allowed to be a little sad about this. We’re all going to miss him.”

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees, and Bryan’s given him the perfect out, an easy excuse for why he’s quiet and upset. He could leave things where they’re at, get a pat on the back, and be left alone for the rest of the night, but if he plans to talk to Patrick later, he needs to be able to talk to his dad now. “I am sad that Sid’s moving away, but I’m happy for him and Geno. They’re a good match.”

Bryan nods and smiles, letting his arm slide down as he pulls away.

“But that’s not really what’s on my mind right now,” Jonny blurts out.

Bryan arches a brow. “No?”

“No.”

Sparing a brief glance for the clock, Bryan turns to face him. “Then what’s got you looking like your maman’s told you that you can never play hockey again?”

“Have you ever—” Jonny falters, unsure how to answer the question. “What do you—” He shakes his head and scuffs his shoe on the ground. He can’t just spill the whole story right here; he can’t even mention Patrick’s name.

“Spit it out.”

“Have you ever wanted something really badly, like more than anything else in your life? But you were worried you wouldn’t actually get it? Like someone would stop you or forbid you or something, and you wouldn’t get what you wanted—needed—and would end up losing the most important thing in your life? Has that ever happened to you?”

Bryan raises a single brow. “This is definitely a conversation that we are going to pick back up later tonight or tomorrow because it sounds like you’ve got some things you haven’t told me about that you probably should.” Jonny blushes furiously, hating how his dad can see straight through him. “But whatever this is, if it’s as important as you’re making it out to be, you should go for it. Nothing is ever given to you in this life. No one is ever going to set things up on a silver platter for you. If something matters to you, you go out and get it.

“If it’s something that affects the Family though, I would like to know before you go off doing anything too rash, okay? You’ve got more to think about than just yourself here. Your actions reflect on our family and the city of Chicago. But I trust you. You’re smart, mature, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Use it, alright?”

It’s not approval, can’t be until Jonny has told him everything, but it’s encouragement, and he’ll take it.

“I will,” he promises, and Bryan nods.

“Good, now let’s get this thing started before your maman starts crying too much.”

Jonny falls into place, offering his arm to Denis who rolls his eyes before slipping his hand through. As Sid and Geno’s best men, they have to walk down the aisle together, and they’d both put up considerable fights about who would lead whom, an argument that Jonny won in a shootout, edging Denis out 4-2.

“I’m warning you now that I already have a girlfriend back in Pittsburgh, so if you’re hoping for a wedding hook-up, you better look elsewhere,” Denis tells him, jokingly.

Jonny chuckles, feeling some tension ease out of him. “Russians are more Sid’s thing.”

Denis grimaces. “The best part of this will be not walking in on them all the goddamn time. They’ll have their own room, their own house, and no one will get mad if they try and lock a door to keep people out.”

Jonny can feel a commiserating look come over his face. “If I never see Geno with a boner again, it will be too soon.”

“Gross,” Denis agrees, and they fall silent as they enter the chapel, keeping pace with the wedding march and separating when they reach the end of the aisle, Jonny to stand beside David and Denis to take his place beside Geno’s crazy friend, Alexander “Call me Sasha” Ovechkin, from D.C.

Geno gapes at Sid as Bryan escorts him down the aisle, mouth hanging open like he just got off a triple shift and forgot how to breathe like a normal human, and Jonny resists rolling his eyes. It is Geno’s wedding day after all; he can give him a free pass.

Sid’s cheeks are rosy, and Jonny isn’t sure if he’s more embarrassed by the attention or happy because he’s about to get married. When Bryan hands him off, Geno looks on the verge of tears, and Jonny can’t help but snort when he tells Sid he’s beautiful.

The ceremony is lovely, all pretty words and sickeningly-sweet looks shared between the bride and groom, and Jonny tries to stay focused on the priest because he’s tempted to look at the assembled crowd for Patrick, and that would be a monumentally bad idea.

He’s set on talking to him now, but knowing that and actually doing it are two different things. He’s a little worried he’s going to throw up once he finally works up the courage to talk to him.

There’re catcalls and shocked exclamations when Geno pulls Sid against him for the kiss, and Jonny can’t help but grin when he sees the priest’s horrified face. He considers telling him that this is fairly tame compared to some of the shit he’s seen in the last four months, but he resists. He watches them walk down the aisle hand-in-hand, and Denis shuffles up beside him.

“Forty bucks say they do it in the back of the limo,” he mutters.

“No way! Sid would never do that!”

“Just like he’d never sneak out of his room to see Zhenya the night before their wedding?”

Jonny scowls at the reminder of the bet he’d lost last night. “Forty bucks say they make out but don’t get beyond that.”

Denis nods.

“Forty bucks say Zhenya tries to get in Sid’s pants, but Sid says no because he doesn’t want anyone interrupting their special moment,” Alex jumps in, grinning widely.

“How the fuck are you going to prove that?”

“I know the driver,” and Jonny shakes his head but takes the bet, muttering under his breath about nosy Russians who know everything.

When Alex runs up to him at the reception, crowing, Jonny knows he lost and goes for his wallet.

“Driver said Zhenya tried to convince Sid to just ditch the reception, and when that didn’t work, he told him they should jerk off in the backseat. Sid almost gave in, but the driver said they got here before anything happened.”

With a huff, Jonny forks over the cash. “Sid’s my fucking brother. Shouldn’t I know him better than you do?”

Alex laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “I don’t know Sid well, but I know how desperate Zhenya is to get in those pants. You don’t know how much I have heard about his pretty eyes and big a—”

“Please shut up,” Jonny interrupts and takes his seat at the front table, hoping to forget whatever Alex was about to say.

“Jonny!” Taylor yells from his right. “Did you see the cake? It’s so big and pretty. There’s a peanut butter layer; Sid told me so. Peanut butter and chocolate. Yum!”

Jonny makes the necessary response. He oohs and ahs when Taylor talks about all the pretty dresses, pointing out a princess pink one and another that is Blackhawks red, and grins when she shows him how to balance a spoon on his nose.

“Oh, he’s pretty,” Taylor suddenly gasps, looking over at the line of well-wishers waiting for the chance to talk to Sid and Geno. “Jonny, he’s so pretty.”

“Yeah,” Jonny parrots, not paying attention to whoever Taylor is pointing out.

“Look, Jonny, look. He has the most perfect curls ever. Oh, I wish my hair could do that, and he has blue eyes.”

“Your eyes are blue,” Jonny reminds her.

“No. I mean, yes, but no. He has the most beautiful blue eyes ever, and his hair, Jonny, his hair is like gold. He’s the most pretty person I ever saw. Look at him,” she says, raising a hand to point, and Jonny quickly pushes it back down.

“It’s rude to point,” he says.

“Yeah, but you won’t look otherwise. Jonny, he’s perfect. You have to look.”

Jonny mouths a curse, turns to look at whoever has caught Taylor’s eye, and feels like the breath’s been punched out his lungs.

“Oh,” he whispers, eyes glued to where Patrick stands with his mom, looking soft and inviting in a navy suit and golden tie.

“Told you,” Taylor says, triumphant.

Jonny can’t look away, and he feels so fucking stupid for not making a decision sooner, for not talking to his parents to get a visit set up. Seeing Patrick is like breaking the surface of a lake after being under for too long, sun beaming down and fresh air all around. He wants to walk over there now, tell Patrick that he’s made his decision and won’t turn him away ever again, but everyone’s watching, eyes on the newlyweds and their guests, so Jonny turns back to Taylor and tries to talk about other things, telling her he’s going to eat more cake than she is once it’s been cut.

He spends the rest of dinner joking with Taylor and David, who has pulled himself away from the clutches of some great-aunt that couldn’t get over how much he’s grown up.

When the emcee calls for the first dance, Jonny shivers, a trickle of fear running down his spine as he realizes he’ll have to speak to Patrick soon, ask him for a dance like he promised Sid he would. He watches Bryan spin Sid around the dance floor and tries not to think about first dances with Patrick at his own wedding. He mostly fails.

The song comes to a close, and Sid turns in a circle, probably looking for Geno, but he catches Jonny’s eye and locks on, marching toward him with purpose.

“You’d better ask Patrick to dance, or I’m disowning you,” he says, mouth set in a thin line, and Jonny gapes.

“Sid, what the fuck,” he sputters, feeling a blush staining his cheeks. “Go dance with your husband, Jesus.”

“Not until you agree to ask him.”

Jonny huffs, “Fine, yes. I’ll do it. Get away from me,” and he shoves Sid back toward Geno, hoping that their dance will take all the attention Sid brought off of him.

After the newlywed dance ends, the emcee invites any couples to join them, and Jonny swallows hard. He scans the room, feeling nauseous, and finds Patrick’s table tucked away in a corner.

Shaking off the fear threatening to overwhelm him, he weaves his way through the tables fighting off the urge to run towards an exit and not come back. Patrick spots him before he reaches the table, and he’s got a reticently hopeful expression on his face when Jonny arrives.

“Mrs. Kane,” Jonny begins because he knows how this is supposed to go and is willing to play by the rules if it means getting a dance with Patrick.

“Hello Jonathan,” she responds and extends a hand for him to shake. Jonny takes the hand and offers a small bow of respect to which she inclines her head. She’s watching him intently, eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, and Jonny has no doubt he is being assessed, picked apart from head to toe.

“How are you doing this evening?” he asks, polite.

“I am well. It was a beautiful ceremony. Yourself?”

“Quite well. I had considered joining the dancers, but I find myself lacking a partner.”

“You do know I’m married, don’t you, dear?” she asks, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes that reminds him of Patrick.

“Yes, I am aware.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping you would be able to spare the company of your son for a few minutes.”

“Patrick?”

“Yes, Patrick.”

She makes a considering face, and Jonny can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest, beating against his ribs in a staccato rhythm. “I suppose so, though this song is nearly half over, so it wouldn’t be remiss to keep him for the next one as well. It isn’t appropriate to only have half a dance.”

Jonny barely keeps his mouth closed, shock at the words crashing through him. He nods mutely and extends a hand to Patrick, who grins up at him. They make their way to the open floor and fall into step easily.

A few measures pass, and Jonny is working up the courage to speak, when Patrick does. “I hope you don’t think this counts as an answer, Jonny. You actually have to use your words, you know.”

He scowls. “I was just about to say something.”

“Sure you were.”

It’s infuriating and arousing the way Patrick can push his buttons easy as anything, winding him up with a look or a word. “I was.”

“Then, say it,” he orders, and it’s the same tone he used when they first met, young and confident, ready to prove themselves on the asphalt of the Holland’s drive.

“I want you,” Jonny responds, honest and simple, and Patrick’s eyes widen just the slightest bit. “I want you,” he repeats, low and fierce, ducking his head to keep the words between them. “I have for a long time, but I’ve been scared shitless to do anything about it. I’ve been so worried that if I told my parents I was interested in you, they would assume that something had happened between us in Detroit, and we’d both be punished for it. I didn’t even tell them I liked guys because I thought that as soon as I did they would know that you were the reason.”

“The reason?” Patrick asks with a strange look on his face.

Jonny flushes hotly and tries to keep talking, but Patrick doesn’t let him.

“What do you mean I’m the reason? What are you saying? I was your gay realization?” Patrick fires the questions off quick, and his smile grows with each wordless answer Jonny gives. “Oh my God, Jonathan Toews, was it while we were playing hockey? Was it later?” His eyes light up with glee. “Was it that night? Oh my God, did little, angsty, teenage you jack off thinking about me?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “People can hear you.”

“Holy fuck,” Patrick whispers. “You have to tell me. You have to.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You really do.” Patrick leans in, pressing up against him in a sinuous slide that has Jonny’s blood heading south quick enough to make his head spin. “Anyways, we can trade stories. You can tell me all about how I made you realize you were gay, and I can tell you all about how I never wanted to take it before meeting you.”

“Fuck,” Jonny hisses.

“It’s true,” Patrick continues, smirking. “I never wanted to before. I hated being a carrier, hated people telling me that I had to be into guys and that I would like it. I hated waking up wet.”

Jonny tries very hard not to think of Patrick in bed, soaking through his briefs. He fails abysmally.

“But then we met, and my mom was so pissed off about what happened, but I didn’t get it because nothing had happened. Then, I started thinking about something happening, and holy shit, was it good.”

“Pat,” Jonny groans and angles his hips away from the incessant press of Patrick’s body.

“Jonny.”

“We can’t talk about this here.”

“We can’t talk about this anywhere else. Best place to hide is in a crowd. Now, you’ve heard one of my stories. I want yours.”

The song ends, and the next begins, and Jonny doesn’t know whether to be grateful that Mrs. Kane already gave him permission for a second dance or anxious about how close he is to pushing Patrick to the floor and biting at his lips to get him to stop talking.

“We really shouldn’t talk about this.”

Patrick spins himself out and in, his back to Jonny’s front, and he does a little shimmy with his hips that leaves Jonny breathless. “I really think we should, and I know you want to.”

Jonny groans. “Fuck, fine. Fine.”

Patrick grins and spins back into place. Jonny prays that no one is looking closely enough to see the semi he’s sporting.

“I had a dream where we were playing hockey.”

“This is either going to be very kinky or very sappy, and I’m not sure which would be better.”

Jonny glowers but presses on. “Anyways, we were playing hockey, and you were being a little shit like usual, and then you started flirting with me, and I was so surprised I slipped. I pulled you down with me, but when we fell, we weren’t on the ice anymore.”

“Where were we?” Patrick asks with a knowing smile.

Jonny plows forward. There’s no reason to be embarrassed; Patrick wants it just as much as he does, if not more. “In bed, and you started kissing me, and…and…”

“And?”

“And you were soaking through your shorts,” he continues, cheeks flushing. “It was the hottest fucking thing in the world. You were talking about how much you wanted it, wanted me, and then you just dragged our shorts off and sat on my dick like you were made for it.” Jonny’s shocked by his own vulgarity, embarrassed that he had spoken so frankly about his desire, but the way Patrick’s eyes go dark and his mouth drops open make it worth it.

“Well, shit. Shit, that’s…yeah, that’s…yeah.”

“Yeah,” Jonny echoes.

“So I’m the reason you realized you liked guys and also the reason you wouldn’t talk to anyone about it?”

“Not you, per se, just what happened in Detroit. My mom was so mad, talking about how badly that sort of behavior would reflect on me and the Family, how it could severely damage future prospects for both of us, and she expected better of me. I told her I didn’t even like boys, and it seemed to reassure her, and I mean, it wasn’t a lie at the time because I hadn’t ever really thought about a guy like that before.

“When I realized I liked you, I figured I couldn’t tell my parents because I had told them I only liked girls, and if I told them I liked guys, then they would know I liked you, and then everything my mom said would come true.” He holds a hand up before Patrick can speak. “I get that that sounds crazy. I know, but it made sense at the time. It made sense over the last four years.”

“But you ended up telling them you liked guys?”

“Yeah, when Sid first found out he needed to start meeting candidates, I asked if he was even into guys, and he said he was, so I told him I was, too. He convinced me to tell our parents, and I was so scared but I did it. When my dad asked if there was anyone I already had in mind, I kind of freaked out because I thought he knew and was going to tell me he didn’t approve, so I just told him there wasn’t anyone, and he let it go.”

Patrick makes a considering noise. “So are you going to tell them now?”

“Of course. I’m eighteen now. My dad is already looking for potentials, but there really aren’t that many guys who are carriers, of a suitable rank, not too old, and unspoken for.”

“I check all those boxes quite nicely,” Patrick observes.

“But you’re seventeen—”

“Eighteen in five months, less than that even.”

“Yes, but currently underage, so my dad probably has you on his radar but not as an option because you’re underage. It would be inappropriate to ask for a visit to a minor, especially when there’s no previous understanding between the Families.”

Humming, Patrick mulls over the words. “True enough, but I’ve already told you that my mom has mentioned you a time or ten, so I don’t think she would deny a visit.”

“I need to talk to my parents first, though.”

“Leave room for Jesus,” someone calls from Jonny’s right, and he jumps, putting a good foot between them before turning to see Sid and Geno laughing softly, swaying back and forth beside them.

“Shouldn’t you two be leaving for the hotel?” he shoots back.

“I’d love to,” Geno grins, and he’s already got a very obvious hand under Sid’s jacket, “but Sid said we have to wait fifteen more minutes. We don’t want to be rude.”

“Leaving to work out all the sexual tension you two have built up over the past few months would actually be the kindest thing you could do.”

Sid blushes and ducks his head against Geno’s shoulder.

Tutting, Geno presses a brief kiss to his forehead. “So improper, Jonny, and so mean. I promise he isn’t always like this, Patrick Kane.”

“Just call me Patrick.”

“I’m Zhenya. Geno for the poor Canadians and Americans who don’t have the mouth for Russian like Sid does.”

No one misses the heavy innuendo, and Sid burrows further into Geno’s chest, letting out a quiet protest that Geno shushes.

“I think my mouth is better suited to French,” Patrick retorts, and Jonny’s mouth goes dry.

Geno laughs, loud and boisterous. “I like you,” he says, nudging at Sid until he emerges from his hiding place. “Sid, don’t you like him? He would be so good for Jonny, maybe help him develop a sense of humor.”

“I have a sense of humor, you asshole.”

“Not when you’re the only one who finds your jokes funny.”

Jonny squawks, indignant. “I take back everything I said about you. You’re a dick and not good enough for Sid.”

“But his dick is good enough for Sid,” Patrick mutters, and he and Geno laugh as Sid hides his face again.

“Why would you say that?” Jonny demands, horrified at the thought of Sid and Geno’s dick and anything that might happen between them.

“Because it’s funny,” Geno answers. “Now, no more sex jokes. My wife doesn’t like them.” Sid mutters something, and Geno smiles. “Correction, my wife only likes them when I make them in private.”

Sid rears back. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that!”

“I thought that’s why you said it,” Geno responds, tongue poking out between his teeth, “but no one can hear you when you hide like that, so I had to repeat it.”

“I said it quietly because I was just telling you that.”

Geno apologizes, and Jonny would bet good money that he’s only remorseful because it upset Sid.

“Anyways,” Sid goes on, valiantly ignoring the way Geno’s hand is massaging his lower back, fingers skating dangerously close to his ass, “we just wanted to come tell you that you make quite the pair.”

“Yes,” Geno agrees, and Jonny is starting to dislike how good of a team they are, “if Sid had a bouquet, we would give it to you, wouldn’t even do a toss. Next to be married and all that.”

Jonny knows he should object, stop everyone including himself from putting too much stock in this relationship, but the gentle smile that breaks across Patrick’s face brings him up short.

“Thanks, Geno, Sid,” Patrick says, and he’s closer than he was before, a line of heat all down Jonny’s front.

They both nod.

“As happy as I am to see you together though, I would suggest finding different partners for the next dance, or better yet, not dancing at all. Everyone’s looking for the next bit of gossip tonight, and I don’t want that to be you,” Sid tells them as the song draws to a close.

“Right,” Patrick agrees, somewhat reluctantly. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Oh, we will,” Geno reassures him, and they spin away, murmuring quietly to each other, and Jonny ignores the way that Geno’s arm goes tense and tight when Sid stands on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.

“Can I walk you back to your table?” he asks

“I would love that,” Patrick answers and threads his arm through Jonny’s as they exit the dance floor.

“I’ll talk to my parents tonight or tomorrow,” Jonny tells him, voice low and private.

“And I’ll do the same.”

Jonny nods and looks at him, gaze dark and earnest. “I really do want this, Patrick. I know that might seem hard to believe after everything I’ve done, but I’ve made my decision, and I’m not about to let you get away from me without putting up a fight.”

“Good because I really didn’t want to be stuck with someone else.”

They arrive at Patrick’s table, and Jonny bids him good night. “Thank you for sparing your son, Mrs. Kane. I hope you were able to find some entertainment in his absence.”

She smiles at him, and there’s a knowing look in her eye. “It was my pleasure. Without my own partner here, I prefer to watch. You can learn a lot that way.”

“I am sure. Thank you again, and travel safely back to Buffalo.”

“Thank you, and I do hope to see you again, Jonathan.”

Jonny falters because that’s not permission, but it is a suggestion, an allowance of hope, and Jonny can’t help the relief that floods through him.

“I hope to see you both as well.”

They nod, and Jonny walks away, making his way back to the family table, where Taylor convinces him to spin her around the dance floor until the send-off.

“Forty bucks say they ask the driver to take the long way because they can’t wait anymore but don’t want to be interrupted upon arrival,” Denis says, standing beside him, sparkler in hand.

“Forty bucks say they have the driver pull over and leave them alone for an hour,” Alex jumps in.

“Fuck off, no way. Hundred bucks say they make it back to the hotel and have stupid, romance-novel sex, all I-love-you and together-forever.”

“Hundred bucks?”

“Yup,” Jonny says, unwilling to believe Sid could ever be convinced to give it up in the backseat of a limo, driver present or not. They shake on it, and Jonny hopes he isn’t wrong, for his own sake but for Sid’s as well.

With the newlyweds’ departure, the party slowly dies down, parents taking kids home and older folks complaining over the late hour. They leave in small packs, grabbing coats and jackets and snagging a last cupcake or eclair from the buffet. Jonny has taken up permanent residence at the doors, pulled over by Andrée and Bryan because he needs to learn how to be a good host. There’s an endless stream of names and faces that he tries to keep straight, but it’s late, and it’s been an emotional day, so he doesn’t feel bad when he forgets some.

“It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“Yes, it was,” Andrée agrees, smiling at Mrs. Kane, and Jonny tunes into their conversation, blindly shaking the hand of each person who passes.

“Sidney and Evgeni seem so well-matched.”

“They are. They fit well together.”

“Yes, it’s always nice to see those couples. I hope my children will all have the opportunity to find spouses that fit them so well.”

“As do we.”

“Indeed, you already have some experience though. The second shouldn’t be as difficult as the first. At least, with four kids I hope it isn’t.”

Andrée smiles and shakes her head. “You would hope, but it would seem finding a wife is entirely different from finding a husband.”

“Oh? Well, I don’t have much need for the first. I have three girls, and my son is a carrier. I certainly wouldn’t mind any pointers about finding them matches though.”

She slips the words in easily, and Jonny can see Andrée’s gaze flicker over to Patrick for a brief instant before returning. “I think such a conversation could benefit both of us. When are you leaving tomorrow?”

Jonny is barely breathing as he listens to them speak.

“We were thinking early afternoon. With such a late night, we wouldn’t mind a bit of a lie-in tomorrow morning.”

“I completely understand. If you have the time, why don’t you come for brunch around ten? Corey makes an excellent frittata.”

“That sounds wonderful. We would love that, wouldn’t we, Patrick?”

“Yes, definitely,” Patrick agrees, and he looks as shell-shocked as Jonny feels.

The Kanes head out with promises to see them in the morning, and Jonny can’t help the way his heart races as he watches Patrick go, knowing that he will see him tomorrow.

“He’s a very nice boy,” Andrée comments, mildly. “I had forgotten he was a carrier.”

Jonny nods but doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he should agree or not, doesn’t know how Andrée will interpret his words. There’s still a small part of him that is freaking out a little bit at the thought of opening up to his parents, but Andrée’s already invited them for breakfast, so she can’t think too poorly of them.

When the last guest leaves and the staff begin disassembling the décor and tables, Jonny makes his way outside, still in a daze. He climbs into the nearest vehicle and smiles tiredly at Duncs in the mirror.

It’s a quiet drive home, nothing but the low hum of the radio and the passing cars filling the air, and Jonny practices how to broach the topic with his parents because, if he does it tonight, they can speak to Mrs. Kane tomorrow and set up a visit if she’s amenable. He rehearses the lines in his head and prays they sound okay.

“Hey Dad,” he says, when they’ve all entered the large foyer and are shuffling out of shoes and loosening ties.

“Yes?”

“Would you have a few minutes to talk?”

Bryan eyes him, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw. “I have a feeling this isn’t a few minutes kind of conversation, but sure. Let’s head to my office,” he says, waving Andrée over, and Jonny wonders how much they already know or suspect. He feels a bit nauseous.

They step into the office, and Andrée flicks on a couple of lamps while Bryan ushers him into an armchair. They settle into their seats, and Jonny can feel a sweat break out on his forehead. The words he had prepared slip away.

“ _Chèr,_ are you alright? You look a bit sick.”

“I want to marry Patrick Kane,” he blurts out and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified.

They blink at him in surprise, and Jonny fights the instinct to recant the words or play them off as a joke.

“You want to marry Patrick Kane?” Bryan repeats. “He seems like a good kid, and I know his parents are good people, but this is a bit sudden, don’t you think? You barely know him.”

“I know him enough to know I want to marry him,” Jonny retorts, and he tries to sound confident.

“Okay,” Andrée steps in. “This is a bit of a surprise for us, _chéri_ , but we’re listening, alright? Tell us a little more about how you came to decide he was the person you want to spend your life with.”

Jonny takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. “You know that thing in Detroit when I was thirteen, almost fourteen? You went for a conference, but there was also a birthday party for one of the Holland kids, so you took me along.”

“I remember.”

“Patrick was the kid I was playing ball hockey with for most of the day—and that’s all we did!” Jonny is quick to reassure. “I wasn’t lying when I told you nothing happened that day. Nothing did. We just played hockey. That was it. I didn’t even know he was a carrier then.”

“Go on,” Andrée encourages, a gentle furrow marring her brow.

“So nothing happened then, but afterwards, I was thinking about him all the time because he was so good, like the best I’ve ever played against besides Sid, and at first, I was just thinking about how I could beat him in hockey.” He pauses, unsure how to make the transition without any awkward stories being shared. “Then, it stopped being all about hockey and started being about him, and I knew he was a carrier, and I started thinking about that and started…liking it, but I was so scared to tell you guys because I’d already promised that I only liked girls, and I didn’t want you to lose trust in me or anything, so I just kept it to myself.”

“Son,” Bryan says sternly as Andrée’s face falls.

“I know that it sounds ridiculous, but I was so scared after Detroit, and I didn’t want to do anything wrong and make a bad name for the Family, so I just kept it to myself, but you took it well when I told you I liked guys, so I hoped that maybe you wouldn’t be upset when I told you I liked Patrick.”

“We would never,” Andrée swears.

Jonny nods, taking comfort in the words. “So I’m telling you because if we don’t do something soon he’s going to have to accept visit request from other candidates, and I don’t want that to happen. I…I really like him, and I know that it would be a good match for the Family, better connections into Eastern Canada and everything, so there’s that, too.”

“Jonny, why would we be mad at you for liking him?” Bryan asks, confusion writ across his features.

“Because then maybe you wouldn’t believe that I had told you the truth about Detroit and would worry that Patrick and I couldn’t be trusted, and then we wouldn’t be allowed to get married, and I’d resent you for it, and it would all just be a mess.”

Andrée sighs and reaches out to lay a hand on his knee. “We trust you, and we know you’re telling the truth. I never doubted what you told me about Detroit, but I worry that I was maybe a bit too harsh with you about that if this is the result. _Chèr_ , I just wanted you to learn how important it was to be careful. I didn’t want you to think that you couldn’t be with the person that makes you happy.”

“I know. I mean, I get it. Now, at least, but I spent so long worrying about that, it’s kind of hard to shake.”

“Jonny,” Bryan says, “we trust you. You are a good, honest man, and we’ve never doubted that. You made a childish mistake back then, but don’t keep holding that over your own head. I barely remember hearing about that, and I have no doubt that you have spent the last four years working to redeem yourself for something you are hardly responsible for.”

Jonny swallows, and there’re tears in his eyes.

“You really want to marry this boy?”

“More than anything.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll need to speak with Donna tomorrow and see when you can visit Buffalo.”

“Really?” Jonny asks, and he can’t help the nervous waver that taints his words.

“Really, now come here,” Bryan answers and pats at the little space left between them on the loveseat. Andrée pulls him in and whispers about how sorry she is for making him feel this bad and that he’s completely forgiven for everything that happened and that they trust him so much.

He cries himself dry in their arms, feeling like a five year-old just waking from a nightmare. He’s known how ridiculous his fears were for a while now, but it’s nice to hear them confirm that and reaffirm their love and trust in him.

“I think it’s time for all of us to get to bed,” Bryan finally says. “It was a big day, and I feel like tomorrow will be a big day as well.”

“Yes, thank you for finally telling us, Jonny. I am so sorry if I ever made you feel like we didn’t trust you. I have full faith in you and the decisions you are making. Patrick is a good man, and I know he will make a good wife,” Andrée says and pulls him into a hug. “Get some rest, alright? You need to make a good impression tomorrow.”

Jonny nods and gives them each a final hug before leaving the room in search of his own bed. Once there, he collapses on the covers and gives into the siren call of sleep, not bothering to take off his suit.

\----

He wakes to the bright, summer sun and bolts up in bed when he catches sight of the alarm clock, scrambling towards the bathroom for a quick shower. He is in and out in record time, rifling through his closet in search of a decent outfit that isn’t too formal or too casual. He wonders if Patrick talked to his mom last night, if she was amenable to the idea, if she will accept a visit.

There’s a knock at the door. “You alive in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonny answers and scrambles to pull his clothes on.

“Okay, maman said that the Kanes are almost here, and she expects you downstairs in two minutes to greet them.”

“Shit,” Jonny mutters, and he bolts for the door, startling David who raises an eyebrow at his open shirt and undone belt.

“She didn’t say anything about a dress code, but I’m sure this doesn’t fit that.”

“Shut up,” Jonny bites out, wondering if it’s appropriate to leave the top two buttons undone. Probably not.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today. What’s the big deal anyway? It’s just Mrs. Kane and her son. None of the daughters came, and I think they might be a little too young still to be potentials.”

Jonny shrugs noncommittally.

“Seriously, though, what’s up? You’re acting like you need to make a good impression, and the only reason you would need to do that is if you’re meeting a potential, and…and…” He trails off, and Jonny can see the gears turning in his bead, putting the pieces together. “You are meeting a potential, aren’t you? He’s totally a carrier. Damn, how did I not know that? Better yet, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

He feels a little bad, but it’s not like anyone else knew. Sid was the first, then their parents, and they only learned about it yesterday. It frightens Jonny a little to think of everyone knowing; he’s kept things secret for so long, it’s strange not to deny it.

“Are maman and dad just making the most of them being in town for the wedding?” David asks, eyeing him shrewdly. “Or is there something more going on?”

Jonny sucks in a breath, then lets it out, slow and deliberate. It’s okay to talk about this; no one will be upset or suspicious. It’s okay. “Something more.”

David’s eyebrows rise. “Since when? The whole house may have been caught up in wedding prep, but I think I would have noticed you finding a potential. Last I knew, you tried to avoid the topic of your own marriage like cats try to avoid baths.”

“A while.”

“A while?” he parrots back, clearly unimpressed with the answer.

“Yup.”

_“Oh finally, boys, what took you so long?”_ Andrée says, looking them over as they alight from the stairs. _“The Kanes are pulling through the gates right now.”_

_“Sorry, maman,”_ Jonny tells her and falls into line beside Bryan, running his hands over his shirt and slacks to make sure nothing is out of place.

“You’re a mess,” David sniggers, stepping in at his right.

Jonny ignores him and tries not to look too nervous when Seabs pulls open the front door to let Patrick and his mother in.

“Donna,” Bryan says, extending his hand. “Thank you for joining us this morning.”

“It is our pleasure. Thank you for the invitation.”

“You already know my wife, Andrée, and my second oldest, Jonathan. This is David, our third son, and Taylor, our little hockey princess.” Donna nods and politely greets them all. “Everyone, this is Donna Kane, and her son, Patrick.”

They make the rounds, and when Patrick greets him, he extends his hand, palm down. Jonny feels a panic settle low in his gut because as much as he’d like to offer the traditional courting kiss there’s been no discussion between their families as to whether any courting will happen. He feels frozen, and he needs to do something before anyone else notices the way Patrick is holding his hand out.

“It’s alright, Jonathan,” Donna tells him, and he gives her a relieved smile before bending to press a lingering kiss to Patrick’s knuckles. Everyone is watching, and Jonny fights the rising blush to no avail.

“Shall we make our way to the dining room?” Andrée asks, when the moment drags on for too long.

“That would be wonderful.”

It’s a good breakfast, delicious food and easy conversation, and Jonny relaxes into it, letting the tension roll out of him.

“Donna, would you join me and Andrée in my office for a last cup of coffee?”

The table falls silent at Bryan’s words, and Jonny waits with bated breath for the response.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Excellent.”

They stand to leave, filing out with serious looks on their faces, and Jonny raises an eyebrow when Duncs steps inside and closes the door behind him. He’s their chaperone, Jonny realizes.

“Patrick,” Taylor breaks the silence.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to take Jonny away?”

Jonny’s head snaps to look at her, and he doesn’t like the wide eyes and heavy pout she is sporting, bottom lip trembling as she waits for Patrick to answer.

“No, I am not,” he says and turns towards her, abandoning the remnants of his meal to give her his full attention. “Why do you ask?”

Something warm lights up in Jonny’s chest.

“He kissed your hand earlier, and I know that means you’re like Sid and that you’re going to be someone’s wife someday, and Jonny is looking for a wife. And you seem really nice and you like hockey, but I don’t want to lose another brother.” Her candidness shocks Jonny, and he wonders how long she’s been thinking about this, worrying about Sid leaving with Geno and Jonny leaving with whomever he married.

“Oh, Taylor,” Patrick sighs and brushes a hand through her hair in a soothing motion. “Sid got married, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still your brother. Pittsburgh isn’t that far away. I am sure he would love if you visited him, and I know Mario Lemieux has some kids around your age that you would get along well with. And I won’t take Jonny away from you.”

“But he needs a wife, and you’re a carrier, so you could be his wife. Also, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s kind of gross.”

“Taylor!” Jonny exclaims, cheeks flaming red.

“What? It’s true! When we saw you last night, he agreed with me that you were the most pretty person we’d ever seen.”

“Oh?” Patrick grins.

“Yeah, so I know he likes you, and you obviously like him, but I don’t want him to leave, too.”

“He won’t,” Patrick reassures her. “Jonny is the future Don of Chicago. I’ll move here when we get married, so you won’t lose him and you’ll get another brother.”

David chokes on a waffle at the words, and Jonny gapes at Patrick, amazed at the certainty in his tone.

Taylor whoops and throws her arms around Patrick’s neck. “This is amazing,” she declares. “This is amazing! You’re going to be my brother.”

“Yeah,” and Jonny’s heart melts at the sight of Patrick cradling Taylor close like she’s precious.

Thinking of Patrick with their future children shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, but Jonny’s dick doesn’t really get the message, swelling up in his slacks. It must be obvious what he’s thinking because David grimaces and Patrick looks at him over Taylor’s head with fiercely hot eyes.

“When are you going to come visit again?” Taylor asks, settling back in her own seat to finish her breakfast, appetite apparently returning now that Patrick has confirmed he won’t steal her brother away.

“In a few weeks probably. Jonny has to come to Buffalo first though.”

“Why?”

“Because he needs to meet my dad before our courtship can be approved.”

“Why can’t he just call and tell you it’s approved?”

“In-person visits are tradition. It gives the receiving parents an opportunity to vet any candidates and decide whether the match is good.”

“But you and Jonny are a good match. Everyone knows that. We saw you on the dance floor last night.”

“You danced?” David asks, shocked that Jonny would submit himself to that.

“Yeah, Patrick is a good dancer,” Taylor informs them all. “Jonny could just stand around and let Patrick do all the dancing, and no one would even notice.”

Jonny imagines letting Patrick do all the dancing. That’s probably not something he should think about around other people.

The doors open, and their parents file back in, smiles on their faces.

“Patrick, we need to go if we want to be home in time for Jackie’s recital,” Donna says, waving him over. “Say your goodbyes. Jonathan will come visit in two weeks.”

Patrick grins brightly and hugs Taylor as she squeals in delight. He bids Bryan, Andrée, and David goodbye before coming to a stop in front of Jonny, cheeks flushed with happiness. Jonny wants to kiss him so badly, but that won’t be allowed until their courtship is approved, so he bends to press a kiss to Patrick’s hand, discretely sliding his tongue over the skin of Patrick’s ring finger. It earns him a shocked gasp, and Jonny reminds himself that their parents are only a few feet away.

“I look forward to seeing you in Buffalo.”

“Me too,” Patrick whispers.


	4. Chapter 4

He hasn’t even been in the Kane home for more than a few hours when Patrick Sr. invites him into his office. Jonny knows it could be good news, but it’s so fast. He only landed in Buffalo that morning, has barely had the time to figure out who is Jess and who is Jackie, but he chokes down the fear and follows Don Kane into his office.

“Take a seat, Jonathan,” he tells him, gesturing to one of the wing-backed chairs in front of his desk.

Jonny obeys quickly and rubs his sweaty palms over his slacks, praying that he isn’t about to be sent home, having proven himself unworthy of Patrick in one morning.

“Relax, kid,” Don Kane says with a chuckle. “You look ready for the gallows.”

Jonny quirks his lips in a weak attempt at a smile.

“Well, I shouldn’t waste time with small talk, so I’ll just cut right to the chase.” Jonny braces himself. “This visit is really more of a formality, us wanting to follow all the rules to the letter. I know you’re a good kid, hard-worker, loyal. I know that you are respected in your Family even if you’re young, and I think that says a lot about the kind of person that you are.” He shuffles some of the papers on his desk and interlaces his fingers, resting his hands on the dark, polished wood. “I have approved the match and accept your courtship of Patrick. I believe you two will balance each other out quite well, and I think you’ve got what it takes to keep up with him.”

Jonny blinks at him, stunned.

“Thank you,” he rushes to say. “Thank you so much. I appreciate it. I really do. I won’t let you down, I promise. I’ll take care of Patrick and—”

Don Kane holds up a hand. “Slow down. I approve the courtship, and Donna and I have set up a tentative date with your parents, but that is not a guarantee. The next several months will help us all be sure that this is in your best interests and our Families’ best interests.”

Jonny mostly tunes out after hearing there’s already a date chosen. “You’ve already chosen a date?” he asks, breathless. “When?”

Don Kane chuckles and stands. “Why don’t I bring Pat in here to tell you both, hmm? Lord knows he’s right outside trying to listen in.” He bangs a fist against the door, and there’s a muffled shout from the other side. “Always so nosy,” Don Kane says when he opens the door to see Patrick rubbing at his head.

“I couldn’t hear anything,” Patrick grumbles, and he flops into the seat beside Jonny, looking putout but content. He winks at him before turning to his dad.

“Of course, you couldn’t. Those doors were made to be soundproof. Now, we’ll just get this out of the way. I have given Jonathan my approval to court you—” Patrick whoops “—with the intent of marriage.”

“For real?”

“We have set a tentative date for the first of December.”

“Holy shit, seriously?”

Don Kane sighs. “Yes, seriously.”

“Wow, that’s not that far away. Jonny,” Patrick says, turning to look at him with bright eyes, “December first. We’re getting married in December.”

“That is a tentative date. It might change, or things might not work out.”

Patrick scoffs and flaps his hand, waving away the words dismissively. “Don’t talk like that. It’s bad luck.”

“It has to be said,” Don Kane insists, and Jonny wonders if it’s just a formality as well, something tradition dictates. “You will be allowed to call every day, though someone must be present in the room with you when you do. And your sisters don’t count,” he says before Patrick can open his mouth. “You will also be allowed to visit one another when possible, switching between Chicago and Buffalo. Do you have any questions?”

They both shake their head, and Jonny’s speechless. The courtship has been approved; there’s a wedding date set. A couple months ago, this would have been a fantasy, a dream that felt like a nightmare because it was everything Jonny wanted but couldn’t have.

“Right, now, as per tradition, you have three minutes together to…celebrate the news.” Jonny’s eyes go wide, and Patrick smile curves, eager and dirty. “You will not engage in any sexual activities,” Patrick groans in protest, “but you are permitted to kiss. I will step out and will reenter at three minutes, not a second more.”

Jonny’s brain shuts down at the words “sexual activities”, horrified to hear that from his boyfriend’s—fiancée’s—father but also intrigued by the thought of that with Patrick. His cheeks flush hotly, and it’s anyone’s guess whether it’s more from embarrassment or arousal.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Don Kane warns, walking out the door and shutting it behind him with a loud click.

“Patrick,” Jonny begins, and he doesn’t get anything else out because he suddenly has a lapful of Patrick, all toned muscle and economical lines, squeezing his knees between Jonny’s thighs and the chair.

“Don’t talk,” Patrick orders, and he smashes their lips together inexpertly.

It’s a mess, sloppy and unpracticed, and it takes Jonny a couple seconds to get with the program, mouth slack in surprise.

“Come on,” Patrick whines, and he grinds down against Jonny, a sick swivel of his hips that has Jonny gasping and bucking up against him. “Fuck,” Patrick moans and settles a bit more firmly over him, ass rubbing against Jonny’s quickly growing erection. “Oh my God, that’s so good.”

Watching Patrick, head tipped back and mouth open as he grinds down, is too much, and Jonny surges forward to capture his lips again, pushing his tongue into Patrick’s mouth, all wet heat and sharp teeth. They kiss open-mouthed, hands scrabbling over shoulders and around hips, tugging ineffectively at clothes, and Jonny’s never been this turned on in his life, thrusting up against Patrick, relishing every little gasp that gets him.

“God, Jonny, yes,” Patrick hisses. “I’m so wet. Fuck, I’m soaked.” Jonny groans and trails his lips down to bite at Patrick’s neck, no idea what he is doing but loving the way Patrick reacts. “Oh,” Patrick gasps on a particularly firm thrust, and Jonny can feel the cleft of his ass, can tell he’s pressed close to Patrick’s entrance. “Do that again, Jonny. Do that again,” and Jonny obeys, tightening his arm around Patrick’s waist and putting his thighs to work. “Feels so good, so good. Oh my God, Jonny, we should do this without clothes sometime,” and Jonny groans against Patrick’s throat, lips moving uselessly as he pants. “That would make this so much better. Can you imagine? All that skin. You’d look so good out of this suit.”

“You’d look better,” Jonny answers. “You’re so pale, I bet that blush goes all the way down your chest.” He groans at the thought of Patrick beneath him, fair-skinned and blushing. “God, I want to see that.”

Patrick ducks his head to bring their lips back together, and he nips at Jonny. “You can. You will. December first.”

“December first,” Jonny repeats, and the door bangs open behind them. He jumps and pulls his hands off Patrick so fast it’s like he’s been burned.

“Get off him, Pat,” Don Kane sighs, and Patrick pouts but slides to his feet, not even trying to hide his arousal. Jonny hunches over, rests his elbows on his knees to cover his own straining dick, and keeps his head down, too embarrassed to look at the man who just saw him grinding with his son.

“In case you didn’t already know, you will have a chaperone at all times after this, and your sisters still don’t count.”

Jonny nods vigorously. “Of course, sir.”

Patrick scowls and apparently decides to make it his mission to slip as many of their chaperones as possible.

“Fuck,” he huffs out, pressing up on his tiptoes to let Jonny keep working the tender skin under his jaw, pulling it between his teeth before sucking. “Yeah, Jonny, yeah. That’s so good.”

They’re behind the guesthouse in Patrick’s backyard, and Jonny’s got him against the wall, pressed tight between the brick and his chest.

“Love the sounds you make,” Jonny murmurs in his ear, nipping at the lobe before trailing kisses across his cheek to lick at his lips.

Patrick hitches a leg up and gets it wrapped around Jonny’s hips. It eliminates any space between them, and Jonny can feel Patrick against him, hot and hard even through their pants. “Keep doing that with your mouth, and I’ll make all the sounds you want,” Patrick promises, fingers threaded tight in Jonny’s hair. “God, you’re so good at this. How are you so good at this?”

“Lots of practice,” Jonny breathes.

“Oh yeah? You got someone on the side you haven’t told me about yet?”

“Hell no, it’s just you. Just you, Patrick.”

He hums and rocks his hips against Jonny’s. “Good, otherwise I’d have to kill you.”

Jonny’s knows the threat’s no good, but he likes the teasing note their relationship has settled into since Don Kane gave them his approval a few days ago. “Never, you’d miss me too much.”

Patrick grins, devious. “Can’t miss what I’ve never really had.”

“Patty!” Jess screams, tearing around the side of the shed. “Oh my God!” she shrieks and slaps a hand over her eyes. “Oh my God, ewwww!”

“Jess, what the fuck?” Patrick exclaims, shoving Jonny back and cupping his hands over himself. In front of anyone else, he’s all over Jonny, unafraid to push the boundaries of propriety, but with his sisters, he will barely peck Jonny on the lips.

“You said a bad word!”

“Whatever. What are you doing out here?”

“Jonny’s car is here, and no one knew where you were, so we’ve all been looking for you. Are you decent now?”

They’re really not. They’re both hard, and the hickey Jonny had been working on is already blossoming under Patrick’s fair skin, a vivid red, darker where he’d sunk his teeth in.

“Just go back to the house!” Patrick yells, and his voice cracks around the words.

“Not without you,” she yells back.

“Fine! Turn around and walk. We’re right behind you.”

“Don’t lie!”

Patrick groans and marches forward, hooking a hand around her raised arm and dragging her after him. Jonny follows behind, trying to focus on dead kittens and naked old people and not the sway of Patrick’s hips.

“I found them!” Jess announces upon entering the house, and a dozen voices cheer.

Donna and Patrick Sr. look resigned when they see them, and Patrick grins beatifically, completely unrepentant. Jonny thinks he can hear Donna mutter about needing to warn Chicago to keep an eye on them when Patrick visits in a month.

\----

The warning is apparently passed on, if the increased vigilance of their chaperones is anything to go by, but Patrick isn’t one to be beat, so Jonny’s not surprised when he’s pulled into the library one afternoon and pushed onto the fancy chaise Andrée had sworn she couldn’t live without.

“They’re going to find us,” Jonny says, but that doesn’t stop him from fumbling at the hem of Patrick’s shirt and getting his fingers on the warm skin of his lower back.

“Then I suggest we not waste time talking,” Patrick retorts and bites at Jonny’s jaw.

Saying no was never a problem for Jonny until Patrick came along. He can’t bring himself to feel bad about that though, not when he’s got Patrick over him, solid and real.

“December is so far away,” Patrick whines, licking at Jonny’s lips until they open to him. He’s rocking his hips down, circling them in a slow grind that has Jonny seeing stars.

“Yeah.”

Huffing, Patrick sits up and leans back, wiggling around on top of Jonny in the best way, face scrunched up in concentration.

“What are you doing?” Jonny’s got his hands on Patrick’s hips, thumbs stroking at the skin of his stomach, and it’s a nice view, but he wants Patrick close, wants to feel him everywhere.

“Trying to find the right angle.”

“The right angle?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Patrick says, and it doesn’t sound much like the answer to Jonny’s question. “Could you just push up a little?”

“Push up?”

“Yeah, with your hips, just like thrust.”

“Thrust?” Jonny parrots back, breathy and uncomprehending, dying from the exquisite pressure of Patrick against his dick.

“Yeah, just a small thrust, okay? No big deal.”

Jonny still doesn’t understand, but he wouldn’t deny Patrick anything. He gets his feet planted and raises his hips up in a quick motion.

“Shit, holy shit,” Patrick breathes out, and Jonny can feel the difference, can feel himself pressed between Patrick’s cheeks through the thin material of the trainers they’d worn home from the rink. “Just like that.”

Jonny does it again, loves the way Patrick’s mouth falls open and his eyes go a little hazy, and they set up a steady rhythm. It’s all heat and fabric-on-fabric, and Jonny swears he can feel Patrick’s wetness even through their pants. It’s a little intoxicating.

The library door creaks open. “I know we have the second and third books, too,” someone says, light and easy. “Oh!”

The gasp echoes in the room, and Jonny can practically feel himself wilt, the arousal draining out of him quicker than he thought possible.

Patrick is still moving over him, apparently content to ignore whoever just walked in on them, but Jonny knows that voice too well, and as much as he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of being caught, he can’t just keep thrusting up against Patrick. He leans to the side, abdomen straining to look at the intruders.

Sid is standing there, eyes wide and shocked, one hand still in the air from where he’d pushed the door open, and Geno is right behind him, pressed nearly against his back. He looks absolutely delighted to have interrupted Jonny and Patrick, grin splitting his face, and he steps around Sid.

“What is this?” he asks gleefully, and Jonny wishes he hadn’t told them when Patrick would be visiting so that they’d have stayed in Pittsburgh and left them alone.

Patrick turns as much as he can in his position, apparently unwilling to get out of his straddle of Jonny’s thighs. “Oh, hey Geno, Sid,” he greets them like this is normal, nothing unusual about being caught grinding against each other with no chaperone in sight.

“Patrick. Little Patrick Kane,” Geno says, and he can’t seem to stop grinning like the cat that got the cream. “What have you done to my brother-in-law? He used to be so good, followed rules and never would have thought about sneaking off without a chaperone.”

Patrick shrugs, and it somehow moves his whole body. Jonny bites his tongue to keep in a groan but must fail, judging by the deepening blush on Sid’s face. “I showed him this was more fun. Don’t try and tell me you and Sid didn’t get up to anything before your wedding.”

Sid squawks and looks like he wants to dispute that point, but he isn’t fast enough.

“We did some stuff,” Geno agrees, and he gets a wicked twinkle in his eye that never means anything good. “Even did some stuff in here, and Jonny caught us, told us it wasn’t appropriate to be alone.” His grin widens. “And we were just kissing, not anything like this,” he says with a wave of his hand to encompass their position. “Seems a bit hypocritical, doesn’t it, Sid?”

Sid mutely shakes his head, but Jonny thinks it might be a refusal to answer and not his actual response.

“Very hypocritical. We were just kissing, lying next to each other, and it was the night before our wedding.” He raises an eyebrow, and Jonny can feel the judgement. He hates how quickly Geno can go from joking to serious, hates how he’s making a fair point. “This is a lot more than kissing, lot more than small touches, and your wedding is still months away.”

Jonny feels like a kid again, chastised for stealing a popsicle out of the freezer before dinner. He wants to push Patrick off of him, wants to run to his room to escape the conversation, wants to tell everyone to fuck off, but none of those would demonstrate any maturity, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Zhenya’s right,” Sid adds, looking terribly uncomfortable but determined. “We get that you’re both…into each other, and I know things seem like they’re set in stone, but don’t bank on that. You’ve got four months; a lot can happen in that time. We’re not saying anything will,” he is quick to clarify. “You know how happy we are that you guys figured things out, but don’t get ahead of yourselves, okay? Don’t do anything that might come back to bite you.” His flush deepens, but he presses on. “You can kiss and stuff, but this is probably a bad idea, you know?” he says with a vague gesture to their position. “You’re lucky it was us who walked in on you and not Maman or Dad or someone else.”

“Four months isn’t so long,” Geno chips in with a commiserating look. “And it’s worth it. When you’re married, you can have all the sex you want, whenever you want. No one can say no; no one can interrupt you. It’s much better than sneaking around to grind for a few minutes before getting caught,” and he’s back to being a teasing asshole. Sid is bright red beside him.

Patrick heaves a sigh and gingerly lifts himself off of Jonny. “Right, you’re right. We just got a bit carried away. I know four months doesn’t sound like much, but it feels like forever.”

“We get it,” Sid says, and Geno nods. “But you can’t speed up time, so you’re just going to have to accept it and be patient.”

They both nod, and Sid smiles gently. “December will come.”

“And so will you,” Geno snickers. Sid punches him lightly in the shoulder. “What? Sidnyusha, you set it up so well. I can’t not make the joke.”

“Yes, you can not. Let’s go guys,” Sid says with a nod towards the door, and Jonny and Patrick shuffle out behind them.

“There you are!” Sharpy shouts, jogging down the hallway. “Sneaking off for a little rendez-vous, huh?”

“They were with us, Sharpy,” Sid says, and Jonny only barely keeps the surprise off his face. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were assigned to them.”

“Oh, well, that’s no problem,” Sharpy shrugs, and he always did treat Sid as the favorite. “I can take them off your hands if you’d like.”

“Yes, that would be great,” Geno responds. “We need to go upstairs for something.”

Sid looks up at him strangely. “But we didn’t get those books.”

“We can do that later. We need to go upstairs now though.” He leans down, and Jonny is certain he knows that everyone can hear. “I’ve been reminded recently how nice it is to be married and be able to do whatever we want, no chaperone necessary.”

Sharpy grimaces; Jonny winces; and Patrick looks envious.

“Oh,” Sid breathes out, and Jonny could have gone his whole life without knowing what his brother looks like aroused. “Yeah, we can get the books later.”

“Best, Sid,” Geno says and pulls him down the hallway to the stairs, Sid giggling the whole way.

“God, I am glad not to be on SidGeno duty anymore,” Sharpy says. “That was the worst. Though you two are certainly giving them a run for their money.” He looks them both over, and Jonny can see his eyes linger on their mussed hair and swollen lips. “You don’t actually think I believe anything Sid just said, do you? I bet they totally crashed your little hook-up on accident.”

Neither Patrick nor Jonny answers, and Sharpy grins. “Thought so. Just wait a few more months, kids. I promise it’ll fly by.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Patrick grumbles, and Jonny threads their fingers together, pulling him close to press a kiss to his hair.

Patrick sighs and moves Jonny’s arm around his shoulders.

\----

“You two aren’t plotting something, are you?” Seabs asks a few days later, eyeing them from his end of the couch.

Patrick’s got his legs thrown over Jonny’s, curled up under his arm and pressing small kisses to his neck and cheek at random. It’s nice, comfortable.

“Plotting something?”

“You haven’t tried to sneak away in a couple days, and no one’s got any good stories to share about walking in on you two dry humping.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not complaining or anything, but it’s weird, got me wondering if you two are just getting smarter about being stupid.”

Patrick laughs, and it’s a hot rush of air against Jonny’s neck that makes him shiver and tighten his arm. “Smarter about being stupid,” he repeats and chuckles again. “No, no. We’ve just decided it’s smarter to not be stupid at all.”

He says it casually, flippant and uncaring, but he’d been fiercely opposed when Jonny had broached the topic the other day.

“You might as well just say we shouldn’t be touching at all!” he had whispered, low and furious.

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve pretty much banned everything but handholding and the kind of kisses my parents give each other after twenty years and four kids.”

“I have not! I just think we need to be smart about this—”

“Are you alright, boys?” Andrée had interrupted, brow raised.

“Fine, maman _._ We just need to talk about some things.”

She had given them an assessing look. “Alright, but don’t stay over here too long. The burgers are almost ready, and we’d like you at the table for grace.”

“Of course, Mrs. Toews.”

_“Oui, maman.”_

They’d been silent for a few moments after, watching Taylor demand that Geno throw her into the water again, arms up and lips in a pout that she had probably learned from Sid.

“Okay,” Jonny had conceded, “I maybe shouldn’t have decided anything without talking to you.”

“No shit,” Patrick had muttered, but he had looked less tense, less wary.

“I just…Your dad said that things could change, that he might decide that we aren’t a good match, and earlier, Sid and Geno said that nothing is set in stone, and so much can happen before December.”

“So you don’t feel like you can commit?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“You don’t think we’ll make it?”

“No.”

“So what? You’re just not that into me?”

“No! I just…I’m scared to lose you, Patrick. I’m so fucking scared.”

Patrick had gaped at him, blinking slowly. “What does that even mean?”

Jonny had swallowed hard. “This is a trial period. Our wedding date is tentative. Your dad could decide to change it; my parents could. They could end up choosing to find us different spouses because we aren’t good for each other or for our Families, and I don’t want that to happen. I really don’t want to be with anyone else or…or see you with someone else, so we can’t mess this up.

“I don’t want people to see us running around, trying to get in each other’s pants because they’re going to think that’s all we care about. They’re going to see two horny teenagers who just want to fuck, and they’re going to think we’re not mature enough for marriage. They’ll think we’re too irresponsible, too focused on sex. They won’t care that I love you. They won’t care that I want to have you in my life and not just my bed.

“Pat, I spent too long pushing you away, denying that I wanted this, and it was awful. I can’t…I can’t handle the thought of losing you again because I couldn’t control myself. I know that December feels far away. God, trust me, I know, but we can wait because we have to. It’s not worth it to push the boundaries, not when it means we could be forced apart.”

Patrick had been quiet, rolling his lip between teeth. “You love me?” he had finally asked, blue eyes wide and amazed, and Jonny had been struck by just how much he did.

“Yeah, of course. I…of course.”

Patrick had whined, low and broken. “I love you, too,” and the words had washed over Jonny like cool water on a hot day. “Can I kiss you?”

Grinning, Jonny had leaned in. “Always.”

“I don’t know if Jonny can manage to not be stupid,” Seabs jokes.

“Hey!”

“While Jonny has certainly done some pretty dumb stuff, I think he’ll manage to be smart about this,” Patrick says and presses a kiss to the hinge of Jonny’s jaw to soften the blow.

He’s not wrong though. Jonny has done plenty of dumb stuff, especially when it involves Patrick, so he just turns and noses at Patrick’s curls, lips lightly brushing against his forehead.

“You know, I think this might actually be worse than all the sneaking around and making out. You two are disgustingly cute.”

“Thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Standing in front of the mirror as the tailor puts the last touches on his suit, Jonny has a strange sense of déjà-vu, except it’s his wedding day and Sid is sitting in the corner with his husband. Geno had offered to give them some time alone, but Jonny had shook his head and told him he was welcome anywhere Sid was.

“That should do it,” Elizabeth says, getting to her feet and giving Jonny a onceover before nodding. “You look ready to receive your bride.”

“Thank you. Whatever Charles is paying you, he should double it for being willing to come out here and help.”

She waves away the compliment. “We find it a pleasure to work with your family.” She bows respectfully and walks out, leaving Jonny to stare at himself in the mirror, thinking about how the last time he was in a room like this he was scared and crying, nervous about losing Patrick for good, and now he is about to promise him forever. It’s a little surreal.

“You should pinch me,” he tells Sid, holding an arm out.

“Why?” Sid asks, though Geno reaches out to pull at the skin of Jonny’s hand before he can even answer.

Jonny jerks back, clutching his hand close. “That hurt, asshole.”

“You asked for it,” Geno shrugs, unrepentant.

“You know this is real, Jonny,” Sid tells him. “This is happening.”

“I can’t believe it’s already here.”

“Told you three months would go by fast,” Geno grins. “You didn’t believe us, but we were right.”

“Whatever.”

“And now it’s your wedding, and you only have to wait a few more hours before you can take Patrick to the hotel.” Geno’s got his tongue poking out between his teeth, and Jonny can feel himself going red.

“Shut up. You barely made it through the ceremony and reception. We were all taking bets on when and how you’d actually do the deed. I won by the way.”

“What?” Sid exclaims, and he looks horrified, eyes wide. “Why would you do that? How would you do that?” he sputters, voice cracking around the words. “And how could you win? No one knows how we spent our wedding night!”

A smug smile spreads across Jonny’s face, and he turns to look them up and down. “I was the only one who bet that you would make it back to the hotel before doing anything, and we could prove that by asking the driver if you guys got there fully clothed.”

“You asked the driver about it?” Geno rests a hand on Sid’s back and rubs soothing circles over the fine material of his suit. “And what do you mean you were the only one that thought we’d make it back to the hotel? Where the hell else would we even be able to have sex?”

“Denis thought you’d ask the driver to take his time and get to it in the backseat. Alex—Ovechkin—thought you’d at least be nice enough to let the driver pull over and get out before you did anything. Since neither of those things happened and you made it to the hotel without any truly noticeable action happening, I won the bet. Thanks for that, by the way. I made a pretty penny for it.”

“Oh my God.”

Geno hums, and his features take on a contemplative look. “Sid, how much you want to bet that Patrick tries to give Jonny a blowjob in the limo? Fifty? Sixty?” Sid stares. “What? Too high? Too low?”

“Patrick’s not going to give me a blowjob in the fucking limo,” Jonny protests because he won’t let that happen. God only knows how many people have been in that limo before, and he would never be okay being in such a vulnerable position with anyone besides Patrick present. He wouldn’t mind a blowjob in a car someday though. The backseat of the Tesla isn’t huge, but they could fit, or Patrick could lean over from the passenger seat, maybe while Jonny is driving. The windows are tinted enough. No one would see.

“Maybe not, but you want him to,” Geno retorts with a smirk that lets Jonny know he can tell what he’s thinking. “Anyways, I didn’t say he would actually give you the blowjob. I just said he would try to give you one.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” Sid finally answers.

“Thank you.”

“Oh no, Jonny. That wasn’t a refusal because I don’t want to bet on it. It’s a refusal because I would definitely lose that bet.”

Geno crows and throws an arm around Sid, smile splitting his face.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I don’t like taking bets I know I can’t win.” His lips curl up the smallest bit, and Jonny can’t believe this.

“What the hell, Sid? Stop making jokes about this. It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little bit funny,” Geno chips in.

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” Jonny scolds, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother-in-law. “This is all your fault. Sid would never have said something like that before marrying you.”

“Can’t help it. My humor’s rubbing off on him.” The twinkle in Geno’s eyes lets Jonny know what’s coming before he goes on. “Along with other stuff.”

“Oh my God, no,” Jonny growls and hops down from the stool, straightening his sleeves and bowtie. “I’m done. Let’s go. I can’t sit here and listen to you two anymore. You’re disgusting.”

“Not disgusting. We’re cute,” Geno defends, pulling Sid against him as they stand. His wife is blushing a vivid red, but he’s not protesting.

“No, cute is for good, innocent, pure marriages. None of which apply to you.”

“We have a good marriage. Pure,” Geno tilts his head a bit and shrugs, “depends on your definition. And innocent?” he scoffs. “Who wants to be innocent when you can have fun?”

“Zhenya,” Sid protests, and he has a slightly pained look on his face as he stares up at Geno, trying to convey something with his eyes.

“Right. Sorry, Sidnyusha,” Geno says and bends to plant a light kiss on Sid’s forehead and whisper in his ear. Sid’s blush intensifies, but his expression melts into something more endeared, and he tilts his head down to look at Geno through his lashes.

Jonny really shouldn’t have to watch this.

“Gross. You’re gross,” he complains, striding towards the door. “I shouldn’t have to deal with this on my wedding day.”

“Stop whining, Jonny. You’re just jealous.”

He pauses and turns to looks at them. Sid is tucked under Geno’s arm, flushed and grinning, and Geno may be talking to Jonny, but he’s only got eyes for Sid.

“I am,” he admits.

Breaking contact with Sid, Geno looks up, brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Jealous. I am jealous. You guys get to do what you want. You don’t have to worry about having a chaperone around to monitor your every move, don’t have to make sure you keep it appropriate. You can run off to have sex together whenever you want, and no one can tell you no. You can whisper and joke and make eyes at each other all day, and if you get reprimanded for it, it’s only because nobody wants to see that, and not because you aren’t allowed to do it. So yeah, I’m jealous.”

Sid steps away from Geno, coming to rest a hand on Jonny’s shoulder, eyes soft. “Hey, that’s all about to change. I know the last few months haven’t been the easiest. Having a chaperone trailing after you and telling you what you can and can’t do is annoying. Trust me, I get it. We get it.”

Geno nods, coming to stand beside Sid. “But you followed the rules, Jonny. You followed the rules, and now you’re going to marry Patrick and be able to do all of those things together, and no one will be able to tell you that you can’t.”

Jonny bobs his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know that.”

They stand there, Jonny looking between them, Sid’s hand braced on his shoulder and Geno offering an encouraging smile. Jonny sighs.

“It’s going to be good, right?” he finally asks, voice hushed. Sid and Geno blink at him, uncomprehending, and Jonny flushes hotly. “I’m not…I know…the first time is a lot harder for the one...for the carrier. Dad talked to me about it, but I know it’s not the same. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be with a carrier or a guy. But I mean, I’ve read some stuff, and it just…it seems like it isn’t always the best for them the first time, and Patrick is small, and I just…I don’t want to hurt him, not tonight, not ever.”

Silence falls, and Jonny glares at the floor, feeling young and foolish. Suddenly, Geno reaches out and smacks him in the arm.

“Jonny, why didn’t you ask before? I know it might be…little bit awkward, but that doesn’t matter. If you have questions, problems, worries, you tell us.”

Shrugging, Jonny keeps his head bowed. “I just thought it would be weird. I mean, Sid’s my brother, and I don’t know. I didn’t really want to think about you two doing anything.”

Sid chuckles. “I’ve seen the way you look at Patrick. Trust me when I say that you won’t be thinking about us.”

“Yes,” Geno agrees, “now what questions do you have?”

Taking a deep breath, Jonny looks up, sees them watching him raptly, and sighs. “I know that carriers get wet, but is that enough? I don’t want it to be dry or painful for him. I don’t want him hurting, especially not tonight.”

Geno looks at Sid, and Sid looks back. “You should answer this one,” Geno suggests.

Sid shuffles side to side, cheeks pinking. “Right, yeah.” He exhales carefully. “Carriers do get wet, but lube is never a bad idea. You don’t have to use it, but you should always have some on hand. Some carriers produce enough naturally, and some don’t. Also, it can vary for the carrier himself. Sometimes, he’ll produce enough and sometimes he won’t, so you should always have lube just in case.” His flush deepens, and he bites at his lip before continuing, “Also, you might decide you like more lube or less.”

“Is…” the question dies on Jonny’s lips, and he feels like his whole face is probably redder than a tomato.

“Is what?” Geno asks. “No reason to be embarrassed, Jonny. This is normal, natural. I wish I had someone who could have answered all my questions before our first night.”

Jonny ducks his head. “Yeah, no, I know that. I just…it’s weird to be able to talk about all of this, knowing that I’ll actually need to apply that knowledge soon.” They nod in understanding, and Jonny pushes aside the mortification. “Is spit…does that work for lube?”

Geno’s brow drops low. “Spit?” he repeats roughly. “Jonny, is spit enough when you jack off? No, is not. It dries quickly, leaves everything a little bit sticky, and it’s even worse when you’re trying to actually get someone open enough for sex. If Patrick doesn’t produce enough natural lube, you need to make sure you have some to use, okay?” Jonny nods, head bobbing vigorously, and Geno squints at him. “Always use more first. If you and Patrick want to try different stuff, that’s fine, but be careful at first, da?”

“Yeah, yes. Right, lube. That’s—we should probably get some of that.”

“There’ll be some at the hotel. If it doesn’t come stocked, I know Maman and Donna will have taken care of that.”

“Oh, good, yeah, good.” Jonny scuffs the toe of his wingtips over the brocade carpet. “I…how…everything I read said that prep is super important, but uh, how much and, uh, how do I…how does that work?”

Sid and Geno look at each other once more and go back and forth until Sid sighs. “I’ll go first, I guess. Prep is important, so important. I don’t think I can stress how important it is. Like, you know how much it sucks to jump into a heavy workout without warming up first?” Jonny nods. “It’s like that, but ten times worse, so don’t skip the prep, ever. Also, if Patrick is like any other teenager, he’s probably fingered himself before. He knows the mechanics of it, knows what he likes, so just talk to him, let him tell you what he wants and what he likes and doesn’t like.”

Jonny swallows thickly at the words, imagines Patrick opening himself up, soft hands working at his entrance.

“You should ask him to show you sometime,” Geno says, smile sharp.

Just as quickly as it came, Jonny can feel the arousal leaking away, simmering down at the thought of Geno asking his brother to show him what he likes. “No, nope. Don’t say that and smile like that. No. I can’t listen to this.”

Geno laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Just wanted to keep you from getting too distracted. You do still have to go out in front of a church full of people, and we don’t want you doing that all flustered and hot under the collar.”

Snorting, Jonny shakes his head. “I’m sure that’s what you were thinking about.”

“Okay,” Sid jumps in. “That’s enough. Zhenya, don’t tease him. You know how nervous you were our first night, so don’t be mean.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. This is serious.”

Sid smiles and settles into his husband’s side, pulling his arm around him.

“Like Sidnyusha said, prep is very important, very very important,” Geno repeats. “Don’t skip it. As soon as Patrick gets his hands on you, you’ll be ready to go, and he might look like he’s ready, but carriers’ bodies are different from ours. They may look a lot the same, but just because he has a boner that doesn’t mean he’s ready to go all the way. Take your time, da? There’s no rush, have all night to figure it out. If you need, get off fast, then focus on him, and when I say get off, I mean let him give you a hand job or something, okay? Something quick and easy that will let you calm down enough to focus on him. You’re young enough that you’ll be able to get it up again.

“If you don’t want to get off before him, take a break when you need. Pull back, breathe, whatever. But don’t rush to get in him just because you want to get off, and even if he says he’s ready, still go slow. He controls pace. If he say stop, you stop. If he say go, you go. It will be good for you no matter what, but you have to make sure it’s good for him, too.”

Jonny nods. “What if—” his voice cracks, and he looks away in shame.

“What if what?” Sid prods gently.

“What if I’m not good?” he bites out, gritting his teeth.

“What?”

“What if I’m not good? What if I can’t make it good for Patrick? What if I come too early or can’t get him there? What if he doesn’t like it?

Sid’s brows are raised, eyes wide and forehead scrunched. He slips away from Geno and wraps Jonny in a hug, arms folding around him. “Oh Jonny. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be good for you and for Patrick.”

“You don’t know that,” Jonny chokes out, face buried in Sid’s shoulder.

“Yes, I do. Listen,” he says, pushing at Jonny’s shoulders until he stands up straight, “it will be good, for both of you. Not because you’ll be great at sex but because you’ll be together. Me and Zhenya’s first night was amazing, but not because we knew what we were doing, but because we were learning together. We listened to each other. I backed off when he needed a breather; he took it slow when it felt like too much for me. Objectively speaking, it was not the best sex of our marriage, but it was so good because it was us together.

“Jonny, it’s not about the sex; it’s about the person you’re having sex with. If you’re willing to listen and talk and laugh at the awkward stuff and get over the embarrassment, it’s going to be good. Also, I’m pretty damn sure that Patrick’s so into you he could get off just from looking at you, so I wouldn’t be too worried about that, okay?”

“I could still mess it up.”

“No, stop,” Sid interrupts, shaking him gently. “Don’t say that. It will be good because it’ll be you two together, figuring out what works and what you like. It’s a learning process; you get better every time. But also, there’s no grade, no scoring system to keep track of. Just listen to him and do what feels good.”

Jonny inhales slowly, eyes closed as he tries to center himself. “You’re right. I know you’re right, but it’s easy to know that without really believing it. I just…I want to give him everything. I spent years fucking things up between us, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want him to be happy.”

Geno lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing at the muscle and bone. “He is happy. Jonny, he is so happy. We can see that every time you’re together. If Patrick wasn’t happy, you would know. We would know. He isn’t afraid to speak up, so don’t worry so much. And if too worried, tell Patrick. You might not believe us but believe him. Marriage is about trust and open communication, and your marriage starts today. Listen to your wife; talk to him. It will be good, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I just…I get caught up in my thoughts, and I just freeze up. I want it to be good, and I know it will be for me, but I want to make sure it’s good for him.”

“You will,” Sid reassures him. “You will.”

Nodding, Jonny exhales, full and harsh. “I will. It’ll be good.”

“Will be,” Geno agrees. “Now your only problem will be waiting until after the reception. We still remember how bad you were at our wedding, and you hadn’t even been courting then.”

It lightens the mood instantly, and Jonny may have not liked Geno when he first invaded their lives with his Sid-stealing charm and power, but it’s good to have him. He’s good for Sid and good for the whole family, knowing when to be serious and when to joke. “We weren’t that bad!” Jonny protests.

“Not that bad?” Geno scoffs. “Jonny, everyone could see you, dancing close and whispering. You’re just lucky no one else noticed how into it you were.”

Jonny gapes, mind reeling at the implication of Geno’s words. “What? No one saw. What? I wasn’t even…nothing was happening. We weren’t doing anything we shouldn’t. Besides,” he continues, indignant and defensive, “no one was paying us any attention because you two were all over each other.”

“It was our wedding day,” Geno responds. “We were allowed to, and now, it’s your day, so everyone will give you a free pass. Don’t get used to it though because they are quick to go back to complaining about all the kissing and touching.”

“That’s because you still refuse to keep it all in the bedroom.”

Sid sputters. “We keep it in the bedroom! We would never—we’ve never—”

Smiling widely, Zhenya wraps a generous arm around his wife’s waist and reels him in, bending to whisper in his ear, quietly enough that Jonny can’t decipher the words, can only see the way that Sid flushes and goes quiet.

When he pulls away, Zhenya shoots Jonny a grin, “It’s almost time for the ceremony, so we should go out there before they come looking for us.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says. “Thanks guys. I mean, not for all the awful mental imagery I could have done without, but thanks for being cool about this. I just, I want this to be good for Patrick. I want him to be happy.”

“He already is,” Sid responds. “And he’ll be even happier when you’re saying ‘I do’, so get out of here and in the chapel. Zhenya and I need to go find the rest of the wedding party.”

Jonny hugs them both again, repeating his thanks, before letting go. They file out of the room, and Zhenya nudges him down a different hallway. “Can’t see bride before wedding,” he grins, and Jonny grumbles but obeys.

_“Oh, mon chèr,”_ Andrée says when he’s found the side door into the chapel. _“You look so handsome. Charles and his assistant did such a wonderful job with that suit. I can’t believe the day has finally arrived.”_

_“It is a bit crazy,”_ Bryan agrees, _“but I’m sure there are a couple people who are very happy to get you off and married, so they no longer have to perform any chaperoning duties.”_

_“We weren’t that bad,”_ Jonny mutters.

_“No, you weren’t,”_ Andrée smiles. _“You really weren’t. I know that first month was a bit of an adjustment, and I know you thought December would never come, but here it is, and I’m so proud of you, Jonny. You’ve grown up so much. You’ve matured from my little boy to a man about to be married.”_

_“Maman, don’t do this. You already cried at the dinner last night. You’ll set everybody off again before the ceremony has even started at this rate.”_

_“Oh hush,”_ she says, dabbing at her eyes. _“I’m allowed to be emotional. Another son married and beginning his own life.”_

_“I’ll still be in Chicago.”_

_“Yes, but it will be different. I know you and Patrick will be in the house, though in a different wing for everyone’s sanity, but you’ll still be married. You’ll have your own little family-unit. It’s just going to be different; that’s all.”_

_“Good different, though,”_ Bryan clarifies. _“We’re happy for you and Patrick. You are a good match, and over the past few months, you’ve really demonstrated that you’re the future leaders of this Family. You’ve been mature and responsible, and we have no doubt that you will be a formidable pair.”_

Despite his earlier words, Jonny can feel himself tearing up. _“Thank you. I—thank you. It means a lot to have your approval. It means everything.”_

_“You’ve always had our approval, mon chou,”_ Andrée reassures him, pulling him into a tight hug. _“We are so proud of you and the decision you’ve made. You will be a good husband to Patrick; I know it.”_

Unable to speak, Jonny just nods and closes his eyes when Bryan joins the hug.

_“I think it’s time to get you up by that altar, kiddo,”_ Bryan says, breaking away. _“We wouldn’t want to keep Patrick waiting any longer than he already has.”_

Andrée tuts. _“He will manage to wait at least a few more hours, if Donna or I have anything to say about it. There will be no sneaking off or hickey-giving before you’ve left the reception. I’m not dealing with that again.”_

Jonny scoffs. _“We won’t.”_

_“Sid promised me the same thing, but when they stepped out of that limo, neither was fit for public consumption.”_

_“But they hadn’t done anything!”_ Jonny objects, and shock races through him. _“I mean, right? They didn’t do anything before the reception.”_

_“If you’re talking about sex, no. They didn’t do anything. But I’m quite certain they did everything else that they could, and I do not want to have to cover up any hickeys or lovebites or whatever you want to call them, okay?”_

_“Of course! We won’t. We wouldn’t.”_

Andrée just hums. _“We’ll see about that. Now, let’s get you in front of that priest, so Patrick can have his entrance, okay?”_ She pecks his cheek and straightens his tie, while Bryan pulls open the door to usher them through.

The assembled crowd turns to look, and Jonny tries to ignore all the eyes on him, confidently striding to the dais and greeting the priest.

“Hello, Jonathan. How are you feeling this evening?”

“Good. I’m good,” Jonny answers, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m glad that you were able to officiate. I know it means a lot to Patrick.”

“It means a lot to me, too. I still remember when Patrick was born, so small but already had that big personality and those curls. Good Lord, I’ve never seen that much hair on a baby before.”

Jonny nods. “I’ve seen the pictures.”

“Indeed, quite a cherubic looking child, though Donna and Pat probably realized very quickly that looks can be deceiving. Ah,” he says, looking down the aisle, “it would appear that we are ready to begin. Stand up straight; keep that smile on. Your bride is on his way.”

Jonny turns to watch the large, sturdy doors swing open as the first strains of the wedding march ring through the silent chapel. David emerges first with Jackie on his arm, dwarfing the small girl who looks like she is shaking under the gaze of the crowd. He bends to whisper something in her ear, and she grins shyly, tucking her arm more firmly into his. Next comes Sid with a beaming Jess, and Geno brings up the rear, Erica on his arm. She seems to be smirking, glancing over and stifling her laughter each time she catches Geno staring at his wife’s ass, mouth hanging open. Jonny shakes his head and smiles when he sees Taylor make her entrance, basket in hand. She’s more confident than she was at Sid and Geno’s wedding, not even faltering when she sees everyone watching her, gently tossing begonia petals to the ground. 

When Patrick enters, Jonny loses sight of him for a moment, distracted by the sounds of rustling fabric and scraping shoes as everyone gets to their feet. He cranes his neck, looks over the rest of the wedding party, and feels his breath whoosh out of his chest. Patrick’s suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination, cut tight to fit the curves of his body, the blue satin complementing his fair skin. He’s left his curls down and messy, just how Jonny likes them, and there’s a thin crown of flowers resting atop his head, a beautiful twist of baby’s breath and yarrow that gives him an almost ethereal air.

“Shit,” Jonny breathes out, and muffled laughter ripples through the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Even Father Ruff gives a small twitch of the lips.

At the end of the aisle, Don Kane pulls Patrick into a tight embrace that Patrick returns, clutching at his father’s shoulders before pulling back. Don Kane then offers him a hand up and turns to Jonny, “You take care of him, Jonny. Treat him like a goddamn king.”

“Yes, sir,” Jonny answers, barely dragging his eyes away from Patrick to make the promise.

Don Kane nods once and goes to join his wife on the front row, who’s already got a packet of tissues out and open.

“You’re beautiful,” Jonny whispers, eyes sliding up and down Patrick’s body.

He leers back. “And you’re fucking hot. Can’t wait to get you out of that suit, Jonny.”

Erica is the first to crack, unable to stifle her laughter, and everyone follows. Jonny can even hear Sid’s distinct giggling over Geno’s deeper chuckles.

“Let’s save that for later, hmm?” Father Ruff interjects with a put-upon sigh.

“Of course, Father,” Patrick responds, face morphing into a mask of innocence. “I would never deflower Jonny in a church.”

Jonny scoffs. “You’re not even going to deflower me. I’ll be the one deflowering you…literally!” he says, waving a hand at Patrick’s crown.

“Oh no, I’m keeping this on.”

“Keeping it—what do you mean you’re keeping it on?”

“What do you think I mean?” Patrick asks with a salacious grin, and Father Ruff clears his throat.

Jonny blushes warmly, and he can see Duncs and Seabs nearly bent over in their pew, clutching at one another as they try not to keel over. Andrée has a hand over her face, and Bryan’s shoulders are silently shaking. Jonny doesn’t dare look at the Kanes, not after telling a whole church that he was going to deflower his bride later. Sure, they know that, but they didn’t need to _know_ that.

“Yes, well,” Father Ruff says, eyes strained, “you can continue that discussion later, when you’re actually married and alone. Let’s move forward and do everyone a favor by getting you two hitched.”

“Showtime,” Patrick says, straightening his shoulders and reaching out for Jonny’s hands.

“This is a wedding Patrick, not a hockey game.”

“In my opinion, there really isn’t that big of a difference,” Patrick mutters. “I’ve got you on my team, and we’re totally gonna score tonight.” His smile is breathtaking and wicked, all sharp teeth and knowing eyes. “I think we should try for a hat trick.”

Jonny chokes.

“Dearly beloved,” Father Ruff begins, talking over the sound of Jonny’s hacking cough. “We are gathered in this _holy_ chapel today to celebrate the union of these two young men, Patrick Timothy and Jonathan Bryan Toews.”

He continues on, waxing eloquently about the sacred institution of marriage and the beauty of two lives and two individuals coming together to be one.

“There will be lots of coming together,” Patrick mumbles, and Jonny rolls his lip between his teeth to keep from laughing.

“If there is any among you that do not believe these two should be married, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

In the silence that follows, Jonny doesn’t breathe, chest tight as he strains to hear any small shift or whisper that might be an objection. Patrick squeezes his hands, and Jonny squeezes back, sucking in a breath.

The ceremony goes on, more lovely words about the start of a new life, the start of forever together. He doesn’t pay much attention, too caught up in the bright blue of Patrick’s eyes, transfixed by the joy he sees there.

“Jonathan, do you take this man to be your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor, to the ends of eternity?”

His throat is tight. “I do,” he whispers, and Patrick nearly glows with happiness.

“Speak up, son.”

“I do,” Jonny repeats louder, slipping the sparkling, gold band Patrick had chosen onto his finger.

“And do you, Patrick, take this man to be your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor, to the ends of eternity?”

“I do,” Patrick says, sliding Jonny’s ring on.

“I pronounce you husband and wife.” Patrick reaches up and grabs his collar, tugging him down for a fierce kiss, opening his mouth like he wants to consume Jonny whole. “You may now kiss,” Father Ruff intones to loud laughter.

Jonny lifts a hand to slide it through Patrick’s curls but stops when he feels the thin crown of flowers. It draws him back to reality, pulls him up from the depths of Patrick, and he nearly bites his new wife’s tongue off when he jumps back in surprise. Patrick whines, and Jonny wants—needs—to hear that sound again, but not here, not with hundreds of people watching. He gently removes Patrick’s hands from his collar and intertwines their fingers.

“Faster we get to the reception, faster we can leave,” he says, and Patrick pouts but nods.

They walk down the aisle and burst through the doors into the cold Buffalo winter, ducking as happy guests begin to throw rice their way, the small grains raining down from all sides. Jonny tucks Patrick close, an arm around his back and another in front of them to clear the way. When they reach the open door of the limo, he’s about to step aside and offer Patrick a hand whenhis wife shoves him forward, pushing him in and following after.

He’s across most of the backseat, still turned towards the door, and Patrick moves to straddle him, legs spread wide around his hips.

“God, Jonny,” he moans. “You look so fucking hot in that suit. I swear to God I spent the entire time thinking about how much I wanted to peel you out of it.” He dives down for a kiss and nips at Jonny’s lips as his fingers scrabble at Jonny’s tie.

Jonny can feel himself reacting, dick swelling against Patrick’s ass, too excited to finally be this close again after months of relatively chaste kisses and touching. Never one to be outdone, he hooks an arm around Patrick’s neck, drags him down until they’re flush, and uses his other hand to undo the buttons of Patrick’s suit jacket, shoving the fabric away to get his hands underneath.

“Want you so bad, Pat,” Jonny groans, dress shoes slipping across the slick leather of the seats as he tries to find some leverage to push back against the hot press of Patrick’s body.

“You have me, Jonny,” he responds, grinning triumphantly when he gets the tie undone, tossing it away as he works at the top buttons of Jonny’s shirt, and Jonny watches.

“Not yet.”

“Huh?”

“Not yet, not completely, but I will,” he grabs at Patrick’s face, tilting his head up until he can look him in eye. “I will, and it’s going to be so fucking good.”

Patrick moans, soft and low, and rocks his hips down, rolling them against Jonny’s erection. “Want it, Jonny. Want it so bad.” He bends to bite at the hollow of Jonny’s throat, teeth sinking in to work at the skin, leaving what is sure to be a monster of a hickey, but Jonny doesn’t care, doesn’t even have the mental capacity to think about anything beyond the heat of Patrick’s mouth, the firm swell of his ass, and the thick muscles of his thighs squeezing at his ribs. “God, Jonny, I’ve wanted this for years, wanted you for years. I can’t believe we’re finally married.”

When he sits back up, Jonny follows, mouth hanging open as he drags in heavy, damp breaths, gasping from Patrick’s assault. “We’re married,” he repeats, sliding a hand behind Patrick’s neck to bring him close. “We’re married. You’re my wife. I get you forever, Pat.”

Patrick hums, and Jonny shifts, trying to roll Patrick beneath him, but there’s not enough room on the seat, and they go tumbling over the edge, Patrick’s crown falling to the floor as Jonny gets an arm under him fast enough to cushion his fall. He bursts into laughter, mouth wide and eyes shining, and looks up at Jonny fondly.

“ _Je t’aime,”_ he says, and Jonny groans, collapsing into Patrick’s welcoming embrace, caught in the cradle of his thighs.

_“Je t’aime aussi,”_ he responds, breathing the words into the inches that separate them before descending on Patrick’s mouth, lips moving over his in a slick slide as he grinds down in a slow roll.

“Jonny,” Patrick moans, fingers raking over Jonny’s back, nails that could leave scratches gliding uselessly over the fabric. “Please, please,” Patrick whispers, rising to meet Jonny’s thrusts, one leg hitched high on his waist to keep them pressed close.

“What do you want? What do you need?”

“Take your jacket off. I’m so sick of clothes always being in the way. Get it off.”

Dragging himself away, Jonny sits back on his knees, struggling to pull the well-fitted jacket off, jerking the fabric off one arm and whipping it away before falling back into Patrick, who immediately gets a fist in his shirt and yanks it out of his pants.

“Oh my God,” Patrick sighs when he gets a hand on the bare skin of Jonny’s abdomen, fingertips tracing over the faint lines of muscle and bone.

There’s a click and whoosh behind Jonny.

“Dear God,” someone exclaims, and he burns with shame.

_“O mon dieu,”_ Andrée cries. _“Get off of him, Jonathan. You have a reception.”_

Patrick doesn’t let up, curling his other leg over Jonny’s hip to hook his ankles together at the small of his back. “Five minutes, Mom. I swear, five minutes,” he says and rolls up to bite at Jonny’s neck.

“Patrick Timothy Kane, get the hell out of there right now.”

Patrick glowers and tightens his thighs, which only brings them closer. Jonny can feel the heat he’s putting off, the warmth like a siren song, like the possibility of water after weeks in the dessert.

“Patrick, for Christ’s sake, you have the rest of your life to have sex with him. You don’t need to start right this minute. If you are not out in the next thirty seconds, I will crawl in there and pull you out. Is that clear?”

Panic races through Jonny at her words, and he looks down at Patrick.

“Come on, Jonny. It’s not fair,” he whines, sneakily hitching his hips up so Jonny can feel him pressed hot and hard against his stomach. “We’ve waited so long, so fucking long.”

Jonny glances over at their mothers, then back at Patrick. He leans down.

“Jonathan Bryan!” Andrée shouts.

“You know I want you,” he murmurs. “God, Patrick, I want you so bad, want to get you out of these clothes, want to see you naked. There are so many things I want to do to you, so many things I’ve thought about doing, and they were so good. God, I got off so much thinking about eating you out or fucking you raw,” he growls, relishing the way Patrick gasps, “but not once was either of our mothers present while we did that, and I’d prefer it stayed that way.”

Glaring up at him, Patrick grinds his teeth. “Swear to God, Jonny, as soon as we get to that hotel I’m going to sit on your dick just like you dreamed about, going to ride you right into the mattress, use you until there’s nothing left for you to give.”

Jonny looks back with the same ferocity and presses his straining dick against Patrick’s entrance. “Good, I want you to.”

Patrick squints at him, raking his eyes over his face before nodding. They climb out of the car, Jonny snagging his jacket and tie and Patrick carefully picking up his crushed flower crown. Their mothers don’t look pleased, and Andrée looks particularly pissed when she sees Jonny’s open collar and the massive hickey.

_“Maman, we would never,”_ she mocks, pushing him towards the reception hall. _“Oh no. We would never. I promise, maman. We won’t do anything dumb in the limo.”_

_“We didn’t have sex,”_ Jonny grumbles, cringing as he watches Donna hold the ruined crown up and sigh, muttering about how grateful she is that the florist had offered to make two ‘just in case’.

_“Two more minutes, and you absolutely would have.”_

_“Not in the limo!”_

She cocks her head patronizingly. _“No? Mon chèr, that might be the biggest lie you have ever told me.”_ She grabs his elbow and pulls him into a side room, snatching the tie from his hands and looping it around his neck. _“Jonathan,”_ she sighs, doing up his buttons, _“a spouse can be your greatest strength or your biggest weakness. I am happy that you love Patrick as much as you do, but you need to recognize how vulnerable that can make you if you let it control you. I have no doubt that you would do anything Patrick asked, and that’s something people can use against you.”_

_“He doesn’t control me,”_ Jonny protests.

_“He could if he wanted to,”_ she retorts, knotting the tie in a perfect Windsor. _“Darling_ ,” she goes on, hands lifting to cradle his face, _“look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have continued earlier if Patrick had asked. Tell me you would have been able to stop in the face of him begging or pleading.”_

Jonny starts to respond, mouth opening around the words, but they die in his throat, shriveling up as he imagines Patrick asking, begging him to keep going. He tries to picture pulling away, shaking off Patrick’s hands and unwinding his legs from around his waist, and he can’t do it, can’t see himself denying Patrick. He hangs his head.

_“Chéri, don’t beat yourself up about this, please. I don’t want you to feel bad for loving Patrick as much as you do, but I do want you to be aware of how much he affects you. He’s a good boy, and I know that he would never use it against you, but others could.”_

Jonny nods sullenly, and Andrée busses a kiss to his drooping head.

_“Make it a strength, not a weakness.”_

_“Oui, Maman.”_

_“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Jonny. I am happy to see how much you and Patrick care for each other, but I don’t really need to see it all the time, and no one else does either. Save that for the bedroom, alright?”_

Cheeks flushed, Jonny responds, _“We will.”_

_“Good, now let’s go find that wife of yours. You’ll be needed in the hall soon.”_

Jonny sighs. “How long do we have to stay?”

Chuckling, Andrée shakes her head. _“We’ve got dinner and some performances, the cake cutting, and the dances, so a couple hours at least.”_ Jonny groans. _“I know, but you’ll have the next few days to avoid the world and spend time with just him before coming back to Chicago.”_ Jonny groans louder. _“The sooner we get out there, the sooner you can leave.”_

Jonny spins and throws the door open, cringing when it slams against the wall, and Andrée rolls her eyes, walking past him.

“That took forever,” Patrick complains, popping up beside Jonny as soon as he’s through the door. “I was worried you were going to bail on me.”

Grasping Patrick’s hand, Jonny pulls him close, following Andrée and Donna as they lead them to the reception hall. “Never,” he swears, kissing the apple of his cheeks and enjoying the ways Patrick’s eyelashes flutter delicately.

“Good,” he breathes and tilts his head up to steal a real kiss, lips soft and inviting against Jonny’s, tongue sweeping over the seam of his lips.

“I think I won the bet, Sid.” Jonny can hear the smug note in Geno’s voice without even looking up, and he flips him the bird.

“No, you didn’t,” he responds, once he’s pulled away from the plush curve of Patrick’s lips.

Geno raises an eyebrow, and even Sid can barely hold back his grin.

“You didn’t! No blowjobs were given. Patrick didn’t even try.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Patrick asks, feigning annoyance. “You should’ve said something. I would’ve given you the best fucking blowjob of your life.”

“You’d have given me the only blowjob of my life.”

“Just as it should be.”

Jonny snorts and squeezes Patrick’s hand. “Either way, you don’t win, G, because Sid never took you up on that bet.”

Shrugging, Geno looks down at Sid fondly. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Everything I have is Sid’s, and everything Sid has is mine.”

Patrick fake gags. “Still in the honeymoon phase, I see.”

Geno turns to eye them, and his smile takes on a sharper edge. “You only make fun of us because you don’t know how good a honeymoon is.”

Patrick scowls and bypasses them, grumbling about pushy mothers and useless receptions as Sid and Geno offer commiserating nods. The hall is still mostly empty, just family milling about, those who have been tasked with security stationed near the entrances.

“Hey Jonny, Pat,” Sid calls, jogging to catch back up to them. “I think we’ve still got a couple more minutes before you need to be up front. Could I borrow you for a minute, Patrick? I promise I’ll have you back in time for the welcome.”

Patrick tilts his head up to look at Jonny, who shrugs back, unsure why his brother needs to speak with Patrick alone.

“Sure,” Patrick responds hesitantly, disentangling himself from Jonny’s arms. As soon as he is free, Sid hooks a hand around his wrist and tugs him away, zigzagging through the tables to a quiet corner.

Brow furrowed, Jonny faces Geno. “What’s that about?” he asks, gesturing after them, and Geno throws an arm around his shoulders, guiding him toward the head table.

“After we talked to you in the dressing room,” he answers, tone hushed and private, “Sid started to wonder if Patrick has been able to talk to anyone about tonight. We’re sure his mama and papa did, but there hasn’t been a carrier in the Kane line for a while, and we couldn’t think of anyone in the larger Family that was a carrier. He thought it would be useful if Patrick had another carrier to talk to, someone who understands and can give him good advice.”

Jonny nods thoughtfully. “That’s probably smart. I don’t think the Kanes have any carriers.”

Humming his agreement, Geno turns to face Jonny, features stern and serious. “I also wanted to see if you had any more questions. I know you weren’t expecting the conversation earlier—and we weren’t either—and it might have been a bit awkward for you to talk to your brother about sex stuff, so now we can talk one-to-one.”

Jonny’s eyes go wide, and he quickly swivels his head from side to side, looking to see if anyone is near enough to overhear. He glances at Geno and swallows. “Uh, does…is…”

Geno blinks at him patiently.

Jonny swallows and takes a deep breath, psyching himself up to get the words out. “How much does it hurt him?”

Geno’s smile is brief and tight. “If you’re careful, not at all or maybe a little bit. I know—earlier Sid said Patrick has probably tried some stuff on his own, and I am sure he has, just like you probably have, but fingers are not the same as a whole dick. Be careful, let Patrick decide when he is ready to take more, but also, watch him. He’s never done this before, so he doesn’t actually know what it will be like, and he might decide that he is ready even when he isn’t, so go very slow. Do lots of prep, and watch him.”

“For what? I mean, obviously I’m going to be watching him, but what do you mean?”

“He may…try to hide the pain, bite his lips or squeeze eyes shut. He may try and distract you with kisses or touches, so you won’t notice that it hurts him.”

Jonny grimaces. “Does it really hurt that much?”

“Depends on how much time you take to prep, how much he has taken on his own before, how much lube he produces and how much you use.” Geno reaches out and places a reassuring hand on Jonny’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Just pay attention to him, okay? It’s going to be good for you no matter what, but you want to make sure it’s good for him to, so just listen and watch and talk to him.”

Jaw tensing, Jonny looks down. “Did it…did it hurt Sid?”

There’s silence in the wake of Jonny’s question, heavy and strained, and he looks up to see Geno starting at him wide-eyed.

“Did it?” Jonny repeats, voice stronger with a hint of anger.

“No!” Geno protests, horrified. “Not…not a lot,” he amends, tongue darting out to swipe over his lips. “It hurt him a little bit,” he looks up at Jonny and sighs. “Sid…he never took anything more than his fingers, which can help prepare, but it’s not the same. Not as deep, not as wide.” He glances up at Jonny again. “When we first start, he…he cried a little, and I want to stop, tell him is okay if we wait, if we do something else. He say no. He say wait, is just different, is just more than ever before, so I wait. Is so hard because feels good. It not hurt for us, but can hurt them.

“We go very slow. He say stop, I stop. He say go, I go. It take a long time, but I make sure to…to give lots of kisses and…and make sure he feel good. I let him decide what we do, how we do; let him tell me when is too much, when he want more. It take long time, felt like forever, and I thought would go crazy, but eventually, it worked out and was good. So good.

“I know you worried about not be good for Patrick. I know you not want hurt him, so is very important to listen. Listen to what he says, and watch what he does. Let him be in charge, yes? Let him decide when to take more or when to back off.” He clasps a hand over Jonny’s neck. “It will be good. I promise. Make sure he knows you love him and will take all the time needed to show that. Make sure he knows that his pleasure is just as important, that you want him to feel good, want to make him feel good, yes?”

“I’m going to not think about you saying that to Sid, okay?”

Geno huffs a laugh. “Okay, but I’m still serious. It’s important.”

“Yeah, I…yeah.”

“Anyways, I’ve seen you with Patrick. You don’t think about anything else when you’re with him. It’s just Patrick, Patrick, Patrick all the time. Nothing else in your big head but that, Jonny.”

Jonny frowns, offended.

“Oh don’t make such a sad face,” Geno teases. “It’s a good thing you think about him so much. It’s very good for your future.” He claps Jonny on the shoulder, firm yet somehow comforting. “Now, you have any other questions? Anything you worried about for you or for Patrick?”

Jonny hums, rolling his lip between his teeth as he thinks. “I’ve heard…well, people say that…that carriers can come more than once. That they can have multiple orgasms without needing to wait in between. Is that true?”

A wolfish grin cuts Geno’s lips. “Very true. Two or three times in a row.”

Jonny’s mouth feels dry as the desert.

\----

Throughout dinner, various distant family members and acquaintances come to congratulate them. They mention gifts left at the greeting table or shipped to the house in Chicago, offer unsolicited advice on how resolve fights, and make so many suggestive comments about enjoying their wedding night that Jonny actually feels his arousal deflate just a little.

Of course, it returns full force as soon as Patrick uses his tongue to clean frosting off Jonny’s fingers after the cake cutting, which earns whoops and catcalls that Jonny ignores in favor of watching Patrick suckle the webbing between his forefinger and thumb.

“Fuck,” he murmurs when teeth scrape over the pad of his thumb.

Patrick’s eyes flick up to meet his, blue nearly obliterated by the wide, dark circle of his pupil. He draws Jonny’s thumb between his lips, hollows his cheeks, and lets his lashes flutter shut as he moans obscenely. Entranced, Jonny rests his other fingers on Patrick’s cheeks and presses. He can picture doing this when Patrick blows him, pressing at his cheek until he can feel his own dick.

“Boys,” Mrs. Kane calls, stern, and Jonny startles, thumb slipping out of Patrick’s mouth along with a plaintive whine.

Patrick turns to his mother, pout in full force, and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Sharpy announces (because he had begged to be the emcee), “would you please clear the floor. We are going to have the father-son dance followed by the mother-son.”

Don Kane strides forward and sweeps Patrick away with a knowing look. If Jonny had blood to spare, he would flush.

As the song begins, Don Kane spins Patrick in a circle, elegant and suave, and draws him back in. Jonny watches them sway across the dancefloor, each step precise, and swallows down the nerves that suddenly twist his stomach.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” someone asks, and he turns to see Mrs. Kane watching him, reverie broken.

He nods. “Very good.”

“When we first put him in dance lessons, Patrick wouldn’t have it,” she tells him, a hint of nostalgia staining the words. “He thought dancing was stupid and took too much time away from hockey. He said it was a girls’ sport.”

Jonny smiles wry, imagining a young Patrick telling his parents that.

“Obviously, that isn’t true, and Pat told him as much, but he didn’t believe him. He dug his feet in when it was time for the next lesson. Nothing could get him out the door. Not extra ice time, not tickets to a Sabres game. Nothing. I was ready to give up,” she admits. “Especially with the three younger girls, I just didn’t have the time to waste dragging Patrick out the door. Pat came home around the time I was set to explode, and he said, ‘Patrick, get your shoes now. I’m taking you to your dance lesson.’ Patrick was so surprised he stopped fighting, and Pat picked him up, had his shoes brought out, and accompanied him to his lesson.

“He went with him for a month. Every lesson, every week. Eventually, Patrick told him he didn’t want him to come because none of the other kids’ parents came to lessons. Pat made him swear he’d keep going to lessons, otherwise he’d start coming again and make Patrick dance at the front of the classroom. Patrick kept going every week. He fell in love with it at some point, but you could never tell him that. He would get so embarrassed and splutter about being coerced into it.”

Mrs. Kane leans in with a conspiratory grin. “But one night, I caught him practicing with the girls for an upcoming ball. He would lead first, showing where to place hands and feet, and then he would make Erica lead because he had to practice following. Of course, he would still tell her where to go and how to move. Following is a loose term for him.”

Jonny snorts. “Indeed.”

Mrs. Kane nods, then gives him a onceover. “Which is why I’m glad he found you,” she continues. “Despite the rather…unfavorable start you two had, you are a good match. Patrick isn’t one to be contained or held back. He doesn’t like answering to others, and he certainly never wanted to be a trophy wife hanging off some don’s arm. You treat him like an equal, like you should. You let him speak his mind, but you challenge him, too. He likes to push boundaries, and you push back. It’s very good. It’s just what he needs, and I’m glad he found it in you. I’m not sure many other dons would.”

Her words have Jonny standing straighter, proud that she thinks so highly of him but aware of the responsibility that entails. “He is more than I ever expected out of my marriage,” he tells her, honest. “He is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

Nodding, she rests a hand on his arm. “I know, and I trust you will never forget that.”

He meets her steady gaze. He already made promises to Patrick in the church before God, the priest, and a hundred witnesses, but he makes another. “I won’t. Not ever.”

She nods, features grave, “Good,” and turns back to the dance floor. “Now, I believe it’s your turn.”

Jonny follows her gaze, sees Patrick and his father hugging, and scans the crowd for his maman. She waves at him, and he wades through the guests, offering her a hand as the Kanes clear the floor.

She follows him in a graceful swirl of skirts, and they fall into the familiar steps as the music begins.

_“You are holding up quite well,”_ she tells him with a hidden smirk.

He frowns, turns her in a quick circle, and settles his arm round her waist once more. _“Have you lost faith in my ability to control myself? I apologized for earlier, and I promised there would be no repeats.”_

Her grin widens. _“I know. You would never break a promise. As long as Patrick doesn’t ask you to,”_ she adds, teasing, and he groans.

_“Maman, please, it was a mistake. I won’t make it again.”_

She pats his shoulder, smirking, and lets him spin her out and back in. _“I know, chèr, I just enjoy teasing you. You’re always so serious. Patrick is the only thing that truly ruffles your feathers. I find it endearing.”_

He scowls.

_“Oh, don’t make such a terrible face. It’s your wedding day. You should be smiling. You’re surrounded by friends and family that love you and are so happy for you. You’ve had truly excellent food this evening, if I may say so. And,”_ she leans in, brows quirking and lips curling, _“you have, from what everyone says, a truly beautiful new wife who will bring happiness to your life and great pleasure to your marital bed.”_

Jonny sputters, cheeks flaming.

_“You should count yourself lucky, Jonny,”_ she tells him, withdrawing. _“I have heard much talk in the last few months about jealous dons, consiglieres, and the like, who find it unfair that you snatched up the pretty Kane boy before anyone else could do more than inquire.”_

Jonny wills his blush away. _“I do count myself lucky. I’m the luckiest man in the world, and I know I owe much of that to you and Dad. If you hadn’t reached out at Sid’s wedding, we probably wouldn’t be here.”_

She waves a hand, dismissive, then lets it fall back to his shoulder. _“Nonsense. You did all the heavy lifting. You told us about Patrick. You impressed the Kanes enough to get approval. You and Patrick made the mature choices necessary to ensure that this wedding happened. We just supported you. That’s nothing big, really.”_

_“I’m still grateful,”_ Jonny shrugs. _“I’ll always be grateful.”_

She nods. _“I don’t mind gratitude,”_ she replies. _“I especially don’t mind it in the form of beach houses or spa days.”_

Jonny rolls his eyes. _“Didn’t you say this was my wedding day? Shouldn’t you be getting me a present?”_

_“Chèr, this wedding is your present,”_ she counters. _“As is the upper west wing of the house.”_

Jonny frowns. _“I still think that’s unnecessary. Dad isn’t going to step down for a few more years at least. There’s no reason for you to give up the suite.”_

Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand. _“It’s time, Jonny. That suite is meant for families, for babies and young kids that you need to keep close for midnight feedings or to comfort them after a nightmare. Your father and I don’t need that space. It’s meant for you and Patrick.”_

“Let’s have another round of applause for the groom and his absolutely stunning mother,” Sharpy interrupts over the sound system.

Andrée grins. Shapry and his flirtatious, sycophantic ways have always been her favorite. _“I’m serious, Jonny. It’s time your father and I moved into a smaller space. Those rooms deserve to see a young couple and, in a few years, some young children.”_

Jonny gives in, just as he has each time the conversation has come up, and Andrée wraps him in a hug before nudging him across the floor.

_“Go find your wife.”_

With a final nod of thanks, Jonny turns and sees Patrick near the edge of the dancefloor, watching him. He strides across the hardwood and holds out a hand as Sharpy announces the next dance. Patrick takes his hand and follows him out to the center of the floor, looking ethereal with his light step and flower crown.

The music begins, soft strains filtering through the room, and Jonny pulls Patrick close, settling a hand at his waist as they turn in slow circles.

They make it only a few measures before Patrick huffs, steps closer, and tugs Jonny’s arm more fully around his waist.

Jonny tenses, and Patrick pinches his shoulder.

“We can do this now,” he says, frank, almost belligerent. “We’re married, Jonny. We don’t need to keep five feet between us at all times. Hell, we don’t need to keep any feet between us. No one can tell us not to stand too close; no can tell us we’re being inappropriate.”

Jonny opens his mouth to protest.

“Okay fine,” Patrick concedes before he can say anything. “There are still things that would be inappropriate to do with an audience, but we’re not about to do any of them. Even if I would absolutely blow you right now, if you asked me too.”

Heat rising in his cheeks and his belly, Jonny shakes his head frantically. “You can’t say that. You can’t say that right now.”

Patrick grins, triumphant. “Why not? It’s not like I’d do it. My grandma is here. My sisters are here.”

Jonny doesn’t think Patrick’s grandma and sisters should be the only thing keeping him from dropping to his knees right now.

“It’s fun to think about that though,” Patrick continues, thoughtful. “Just getting on my knees right here, pulling your belt off, unzipping your slacks.”

Jonny groans and clutches at Patrick, dick beginning to swell between them.

“Then, I’d get your hands in my hair, open my mouth, and just let you go to town.” Patrick moans, low and throaty, fingers sliding up Jonny’s shoulder and around his neck. “It’d be wet and messy. I have no idea how to give a blow job to an actual person, but I’ve practiced on a dildo I convinced my mom to buy when I told her it was a better choice than a random guy from school.”

Frowning, Jonny’s fingers press into the small of Patrick’s back, forcing him closer until they’re flush.

“Not that I would ever do that,” Patrick assures. “None of the guys at my school were anywhere near you in terms of hotness, but it got me a dildo, so there’s that. Anyways, I’ve practiced on it a lot, so I’m not totally in the dark about how it should go, but I definitely know you’re bigger than that and dildos don’t move on their own and they’re not hot and wet like your dick would be—”

“Patrick,” Jonny hisses, strangled.

“But I wouldn’t even care. I’d let you fuck my mouth until I choked on it.”

The words, the promise behind them, are dizzying, and Jonny is both painfully aroused and mildly horrified that he finds the image so arousing.

“I’d learn to take it. In the mouth, in the ass. After we’ve fucked enough, I could be ready whenever you want, no prep necessary. I’d be so easy. I already am so easy for you.”

“Patrick,” he croaks. “You can’t talk like that. You can’t say those things.”

Patrick scoffs and circles his hips minutely, not enough for anyone to notice but enough for Jonny to feel it. “What? You don’t like me saying that we’re going to fuck? Come on, Jonny. I’m not about to say make love. That’s stupid. I mean, obviously I love you. _Je t’aime de tout mon coeur._ But making love is soft and slow and boring as hell. I don’t want that.

“I want you to fuck me, Jonny,” he says, eyes dark and intense. “I want you to rail me so hard I feel it for days. I want to be reminded how good you fucked me every time I take a step, every time I shift in my seat. I want you to pound me right through the fucking mattress.

“And you’re going to do it,” he continues, nails scratching through Jonny’s short hair, “because you love me. We don’t need soft and slow and boring. I want hard and fast and so fucking good I can’t think of anything else. Love me, Jonny, but don’t you dare fucking make love to me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jonny murmurs, trying to think rationally despite the desire fogging his brain.

“You won’t,” Patrick scoffs. “No blood, but I want bruises, Jonny. I want hickeys all down my neck and chest. I want marks on my hips because you were holding me so tight. I want to look at myself and see all the places you touched me, all the places you were. Okay?”

Jonny’s tongue feels too big for his mouth, heavy and unwieldy. Patrick is so close, his hot breath washing over Jonny’s neck, his wet lips shining beneath the dim lights, his hands practically burning Jonny everywhere they touch skin.

“Jonny,” Patrick repeats, demanding.

Jonny nods, head rocking back and forth like a bobble head. “Yeah,” he rasps. “I can do that.”

A pleased smile curls Patrick’s lips, and he rests his head on Jonny’s shoulder. “Good, that’s good.”

\----

After the slow dances, things pick up. Pop hits are followed by thumping club tracks are followed by throwback 80s tunes, and Jonny can barely keep up. For one song, Patrick is jumping around him, arms and legs flailing. For the next, he is plastered to Jonny, back to front, grinding against him until Jonny is breathing heavy, open-mouthed and deep.

At one point, the Kane siblings do a choreographed number that involves a lot of shimmies, shakes, and rolls. It’s at once hilarious because they aren’t taking it seriously and incredible because they’re all rather gifted dancers.

When it ends, Patrick finds Jonny, red-cheeked and breathless, and grins. “Did you like it?” he asks.

“I did.”

Beaming, Patrick drops into his lap and loops his arms around Jonny’s neck, effectively ending his conversation with the Benn brothers, who showed up in ‘cowboy couture’ according to Jordie.

“We can talk in a couple weeks,” Jordie says, rising to his feet.

Jamie follows, neck turning an amusing shade of red as he tries to sneak glances at Jonny and Patrick while also looking anywhere but at Jonny and Patrick.

Jonny nods. “I’ll schedule a meeting as soon as we’re settled back in Chicago,” he tells them, extending a hand to shake theirs as they depart.

Patrick watches them go, then turns back to Jonny with a frown. “Jonathan Toews, are you conducting business at our wedding?”

Folding his arms around Patrick, Jonny hums and presses a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Nothing in detail,” he promises. “Jordie just wanted to see about sitting down for dinner sometime soon. Things are still a mess in Dallas, but they’re trying to bring some order.”

Pouting, Patrick turns his head enough to see the Benns shake his parents’ hands, probably bidding them farewell with some final congratulations. “It’s a good time to make friends,” he comments. “Provide them with support now, so when things are better, they’ll remember us.”

Jonny nods. “Yeah, our support could give Jordie the backing he needs to become Don of Dallas.”

Patrick narrows his eyes, assesses the Benns as they leave the ballroom, and turns back to Jonny. “Jordie will be Consigliere. Jamie will be Don.”

Jonny frowns. “What makes you think that? Jordie has been the one taking charge and keeping things from completely falling apart. Jamie’s just his kid brother along for the ride.”

Shaking his head, Patrick rubs a thumb over Jonny’s forehead to dispel the wrinkles. “Jordie is taking care of things now, but he’s not built for long-term leadership. He doesn’t want long-term leadership. Jamie probably doesn’t either, but he’d do well in the position.”

“How do you know?”

Patrick shrugs. “My dad has kept a pulse on Dallas for a while. That’s an important hub between the US and South America, and he’s been just as anxious as everyone else to see how things would shake out. He wanted me to stay informed, too, because I’d likely end up dealing with whoever took power, but he also said things like that can happen to any family if they aren’t careful, so I needed to take notes and think of how those kinds of situations could be avoided.

“I learned what I could, met the Benns at a couple events, and thought they probably had the best chance of taking power. Their parents are already on the older side though, and their sister has no interest in the Family business, so Jordie and Jamie are going to be the long-term leaders. Jordie is louder and can take action easily, but he doesn’t enjoy leading. Jamie doesn’t either, but he’s good at it. People listen to him, even if he is young. Jamie will end up Don, and Jordie will be Consigliere.”

Jonny raises a brow. “Impressive.”

Patrick shrugs, modest for once in his life. “Thanks, but I didn’t actually come over here to talk about the Benns.” He shifts in Jonny’s lap, hips rolling down. “I came to tell you,” he says, breathing the words in Jonny’s ear, “that my mom has given us her blessing to finally leave this godforsaken reception and go to the hotel. They’ll just be dancing for the rest of the night, so there’s no need to stick around.”

Jonny perks up, fingers tightening around Patrick’s waist. “Now?”

“Now.”

He hauls Patrick to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over, and strides across the room, feet eating up the distance between them and some much-needed privacy.

Near the door, their mothers stop them, fussing over lapels and pocket squares. Jonny think he hears Patrick grumble that it won’t matter in ten minutes because they won’t be wearing any clothes, and Mrs. Kane tuts.

_“The limo is coming around,”_ Andrée tells him, straightening his collar. _“Security will follow at an acceptable distance. You have four nights at the hotel. You’re welcome to go out during the day, but make sure you keep the team informed as we can’t station someone right outside the door without drawing too much attention.”_

He nods.

_“Then, you have two nights at the Kane house, where I hope you will be a polite guest and keep the volume at an appropriate level.”_ Jonny flushes, and she rolls her eyes, grinning. _“Then, we’ll have a plane ready to pick you up Friday morning and bring you both home.”_

_“Four nights at the hotel, two nights at the Kanes, then home. Tell security if we want to leave. Got it.”_

She brushes some dust from his shoulder. _“Good. Now, we’ve left supplies in the hotel room for you, and you can use as much or as little as you want. There are condoms, different lubricants, and some other items that you may or may not enjoy depending on your taste. Use what you want, but there’s no expectation or necessity there. We just wanted to provide possibilities. You and Patrick can decide what you do and don’t like.”_

Jonny feels like his face is on fire.

_“Don’t be embarrassed, chéri. This isn’t supposed to be embarrassing. I know it’s new and different, and I know it’s strange to talk about these things in a more concrete sense, as you will actually be engaging in sexual relations with Patrick—”_

_“Maman,”_ Jonny groans.

_“But you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Sex is a beautiful thing. I think we’ve always made that clear.”_

Shoulders slumping, Jonny looks at the ceiling and mouths a silent prayer.

_“But it’s also something meant for marriage between two people who love and care for each other and who have made commitments to stay together and raise any children that may be a result of their activities.”_

Jonny nods. He knows. He’s heard all of this.

_“And you have waited for that,”_ she presses on. _“I know it was hard. I know we were hard on you, but it was necessary. Now, you and Patrick begin your marriage on even footing and with a good reputation. No one has any doubts about your commitment to one another; no one has any concerns about a shotgun wedding. You have approached marriage with the maturity and rationality it necessitates, and people will respect that. They already do respect that._

_“I said it earlier, and I will say it again. Patrick can be your greatest strength, chèr. He is smart and kind and well-loved in many circles. He brings a lot to the table on his own, as do you, but together, you bring so much more. Strengthen that bond; nurture it. Then, you will be happy for the rest of your lives. It won’t be easy. Life isn’t easy, and this life is especially hard at times, but if you have each other to lean on, it will always be manageable._

_“Take care of him,”_ she continues, cradling his face with a gentle palm. _“Love and cherish him. And realize that what you do in bed is a part of that. Be open and honest with him about the things you want and ask what he wants, and as you do that, you’ll find it extends to all aspects of your life. A healthy sex life is indicative of a healthy relationship and vice versa.”_

Jonny looks down at her. _“I know,”_ he says, cheeks still flaming. _“I know.”_

_“Good,”_ she nods. _“Now, go have fun.”_


	6. Chapter 6

Her words stay with him as they exit the ballroom to catcalls and hollers, climb into the waiting limousine, and head for the hotel.

They stay with him as they slide out of the car, take the elevator, and make their way towards the honeymoon suite prepared for them.

Patrick’s hands are everywhere, slipping beneath Jonny’s jacket and over his ass and through his hair. His lips are too, nipping at Jonny’s mouth, his neck, his earlobe. It makes it hard to think, makes it hard to speak.

They tumble through the door, and Patrick slams it shut with a vicious grin.

“Hold on,” Jonny says when Patrick moves to attack his buttons. “Hold on.”

Patrick’s lips twist, but he stops, hands frozen in the air between them. “What?”

Taking a couple deep breaths, Jonny clears his head. “Give me a minute. Just give me a minute.”

Patrick doesn’t seem pleased with the request, but he complies.

Jonny feels calmer with every breath, his shoulders falling, his fists unclenching, and his stomach settling.

“Jonny, come on,” Patrick whines. “What’s this about? Is this a thing for you? Making me wait. Haven’t we waited enough?”

Shaking his head, Jonny opens his eyes and looks at Patrick. “No. No, I’m not trying to make you wait. I just need to think for a second.”

“About what? There’s nothing to think about. This isn’t about thinking. It’s about doing, so let’s just do it.”

Jonny snorts. “Romantic.”

Patrick narrows his eyes at him. “Yeah, about as romantic as having my new husband tell me to wait when we’re finally alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonny says and straightens. “Come sit down for a second.” He waves Patrick toward the plush couches that sit around a crackling fire.

Patrick frowns, but he goes, taking a seat on the edge of the couch and turning his shrewd gaze on Jonny.

Letting out a quick breath, Jonny sits down as well and turns toward him. “I’m not trying to make you wait,” he explains, earnest, “but I think we should talk about things before we get started because I…I don’t think I’m going to be able to think when we’re actually naked, and I get that that’s the point, but I don’t want to do anything that you might not like or I might not like in the heat of the moment.”

He swallows. “You seem to already know some things that you want, and I…I want to do those for you. But I want to be smart about it, and I want to make sure it’s something good for you and not something you end up regretting. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you, Patrick. God,” he sighs, “I love you so much, and I really don’t want to hurt you. I already spent years hurting you.”

“Jonny,” Patrick breathes, something heavy in the word. He reaches a hand out, and Jonny offers his in return, letting their fingers tangle together. “Jonny, we don’t have to do anything you’re not okay with. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something you don’t want to just because I asked for it. Shit,” he mutters, shame staining the tone, “I’m sorry if you felt like I was putting pressure on you.”

“No, no,” Jonny hurries to assure him. “You’re not putting pressure on me. You’re not. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page about this. I…” He sighs. “I know you said you don’t want me to make love to you, and I get what you meant, I do. But I do love you, and sex is supposed to be me showing you that, and I…I don’t know if—” He swallows thickly, face hot. “I don’t know if I can do the things you want and still feel like I’m showing you how much you matter to me, how much I do love you.”

Patrick is quiet for a moment, face contemplative. “I guess I never really thought about it that way,” he finally says.

Holding his gaze, Jonny nods. “Yeah, and I’m not saying that we can’t do all of that. Obviously, I was into everything you said, but I’m having trouble reconciling that with the way I feel about you. It just doesn’t match up in my head.”

Patrick bites his lip, eyes unfocused as he thinks, and Jonny squeezes his hand gently, reassuring.

“I don’t think it’s about the pain,” Patrick explains, slow like he has to consciously form each word. “I don’t get off after taking a hard check or tripping down the stairs or scraping my knees. And none of that sounds any more appealing if I think about you being there.

“I don’t want you to hurt me,” he continues, gaining momentum, “not really, but I want you to make me feel it. I want it hard and rough enough that the feeling stays with me even after we’ve finished. I want to be able to poke at a bruise or a hickey and remember that you left it there. I want to have physical proof that you want me, even if you aren’t around to show me that.”

“Patrick, I always want you.”

“I know,” Patrick shrugs, looking at their intertwined hands. “I know that.”

Brow furrowing, Jonny tilts his head down to catch Patrick’s eye. “Do you?”

Patrick looks at him, then looks away. “Yes,” he murmurs.

“But you want a reminder?”

Patrick’s eyes flutter shut, cheeks turning red beneath Jonny’s gaze. “Yes.”

“And a ring isn’t enough? The life we’re going to share isn’t enough?”

Patrick raises his head. “No,” he says, decisive. “There are lots of marriages that aren’t for love. There are lots of men and women with rings on their fingers and lives they share with a spouse that doesn’t love them. I know you love me, Jonny. I do, and I love you, too. But I want something on me that shows you loved me in the basest sense. I want something that shows you desired me, that you wanted me so much you lost control a little.

“I want to look at the shape of your fingers on my hips and remember how tightly you held me because you didn’t want any space between us. I want to see a hickey on my neck and remember how it felt like you wanted to consume me. I want marks that show how much you want me.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t before,” Patrick says, honest and bald-faced, and it cuts Jonny to the quick. “At least, I didn’t know you wanted me,” Patrick amends, squeezing Jonny’s hand in apology. “You kept running away and telling me no and shutting me out. Then, after we started courting, I felt like I didn’t have to worry about that anymore because you were always touching me, you were always willing to sneak off and make out, but then that stopped.

“I know we had to. I know. I don’t regret following the rules because I don’t think we would be here if we hadn’t, but sometimes, I felt like maybe I wasn’t worth breaking the rules for. I know that’s ridiculous,” Patrick continues before Jonny can object. “I know I was being stupid, but I still felt that way sometimes. I still felt like maybe you didn’t want me enough to break the rules.”

A dark frown tugs at Jonny’s lips. “I always wanted you, Patrick. I’ve said it before, but I’ll repeat it a thousand times if that’s what you need. Even when I knew I shouldn’t, I wanted you. Even when I tried not to because I didn’t think it was possible, I wanted you. I followed the rules because I wanted you. Not for a day, not for a quick fuck, but for the rest of our lives.

“It wasn’t easy. Every time you were close to me, I wanted to get closer. I wanted to do so many things to you that I couldn’t think about anything else sometimes. I’ve wanted you for years, Patrick, and now, I can have you. I do have you.”

Patrick’s eyes darken with every word, heat pooling his gaze, and he grips Jonny’s hand tighter, uses it to pull him into his space. “You do,” he agrees, rough. “And if you’re good with it, I want you to show me that. I want you to make up for all the years we got off thinking about each other. I want you to make up for five years of wanting. I want you to make me feel it down to my bones.

“I don’t want you to be violent, but I want you to push. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you. You know I’ll tell you. I can’t shut up if I don’t like something.”

They both chuckle, and something eases in Jonny’s chest.

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. I’ll tell you if you’re not doing it the way I want. And I want you to tell me if you’re not okay with something. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Fuck, I want this to be as good for you as it’s going to be for me, okay? So I’ll talk, and you’ll talk, and we’ll have the best fucking sex anyone has ever had. How does that sound?”

Jonny wets his lips, mulling the words over. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

A grin breaks over Patrick’s face, “Awesome,” and he scoots forward, swings a leg up and over, and straddles Jonny’s lap.

Jonny sucks in a sharp breath at the weight of him and lifts his hands to cradle his hips.

“Anything else you want to talk about?” Patrick asks, lips a breath away from Jonny’s.

“No.”

“Good, now put all those muscles to work and fucking hold me like you mean it.”

Swallowing, Jonny loosens his fingers, releasing tension, and tightens them once more. He squeezes until Patrick moans. He squeezes until he grinds down against Jonny’s rapidly growing erection. He squeezes until Patrick gasps and tells him to stop there.

He freezes, fingers nearly white as they grip Patrick’s hips.

Breath shallow, Patrick looks between them. “Don’t let up, okay?” he says.

Jonny nods, transfixed by the wet sheen of Patrick’s lips and the black pools of his pupils.

Patrick shifts, hips circling, and Jonny holds on.

“Oh god,” Patrick moans, moving faster. “Yeah, Jonny, yes.”

Flushed with pride, Jonny keeps his grip tight and bends forward enough to bite at Patrick’s neck, teeth sharp.

“Fuck,” Patrick shouts, jumping in his lap. “Fuck, Jonny, please.”

Jonny nips at the skin again, testing. Then he sinks his teeth in.

Patrick jolts, a high keen spilling from his lips, and he clutches at Jonny’s shoulders, fingers scrabbling over his woolen jacket, unable to find a handhold.

Jonny holds the skin between his teeth for a few seconds, worrying at it just to hear Patrick whimper. Then, he lets it go and sucks, loose and wet.

“Jonny,” Patrick whines. “Jonny please.”

He pulls off with a slick pop and moves to the other side, setting his teeth over Patrick’s thrumming pulse and humming when Patrick rocks against him. He sucks at the skin again, then withdraws.

The marks sit high on Patrick’s neck, well above where a collar could hide them. They’re a deep red, the edges darker where his teeth had pressed in, and he shivers at the sight.

Patrick cards his fingers through Jonny’s hair, nails scritching over his scalp, and Jonny tilts his head enough to meet his eyes. “You can ease up a little,” Patrick murmurs, eyes twin pools of black.

Jonny blinks a few times before the words fully register. He lets go immediately. “Shit, sorry, was that too tight?”

Patrick is shaking his head before he has finished, reaching for his hands and putting them back in place. “No, that was good. That was perfect. Do it again. I just don’t want it as tight right now.”

Hesitant, Jonny places his hands on Patrick’s hips once more and applies gentle pressure.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, rocking into it. “That’s good.”

Jonny stares at his open mouth, his bitten-red lips and pink tongue, and finds his lips parting in response. A smile quirks Patrick’s lips, and a hand nudges Jonny’s chin up until they’re looking into one another’s eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” Patrick asks, hips moving in slow rolls.

It turns Jonny’s brain to mush for a good minute or two, nothing processing besides the hot press of Patrick over his dick and the warm pressure of his hand on Jonny’s cheek.

“Good,” he mumbles when his tongue finally obeys. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?”

Jonny nods and turns his head to kiss Patrick’s palm. “I get why you want it now, and I’m willing to give it.”

Grinning, Patrick tips forward and captures Jonny’s mouth in a sweet kiss, gentle and soft, an unexpected counterpoint to the rough bites and bruising grip he had asked for. Patrick breaks the kiss and licks his lips, tongue gliding over the spit-slick skin in hypnotic sweeps. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Patrick hums and sways in for another kiss, deeper, longer. “Bed,” he murmurs, when they separate. “Take me to bed, Jonny.”

Heat pulses in Jonny’s belly, and he scoots to the edge of the couch. “Think you could wrap your legs around me?” he asks, hands gripping the underside of Patrick’s thighs.

Patrick moans in response, shifting to wrap one leg and then the other around Jonny.

Hefting him closer, Jonny stands and pauses for a moment, finding his balance with the added weight.

“Fuck, this is so hot, Jonny. Holy shit, are you going to carry me the whole way?”

Determined, Jonny tightens his grips and moves toward the bedroom, steps careful for his precious cargo.

Patrick whimpers the entire time, arms locked around Jonny’s neck as he tells him how this is better than all his fantasies, hotter than anything he could’ve ever imagined. His breath his hot on Jonny’s neck, his lips near enough that they brush his ear from time to time, little swipes of wet skin that Jonny thinks may be on purpose.

In the bedroom, he approaches the massive bed and sets Patrick on the edge, stepping back to admire the picture he makes. Flower crown askew on his golden curls, eyes an electric blue and lips a swollen red, chest heaving up and down with every open-mouthed breath, and slacks tight around his thighs and aching dick.

Jonny goes down on one knee, and Patrick sucks in a sharp breath, eyes glued to him. Smirking, Jonny wraps a hand around one ankle, tugs at the laces of Patrick’s wingtip, and pulls the shoe off, tossing it across the room where it thunks against the wall. He repeats the motions on the other side, and the shoe joins its twin. Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of Patrick’s slacks, he peels his socks down and lets them fall to the floor.

Entranced by Patrick’s body and the knowledge that he can finally touch, Jonny settles on both knees and drags reverent hands up his calves, over the bend of his knees, and across the muscled expanse of his thighs.

Patrick’s breath grows ragged.

Tongue poking out between his lips, Jonny unbuckles Patrick’s belt, undoes the button and zipper, and slides his slacks down, revealing pale skin and fine hair. The slacks join the socks, and Jonny rests his hands on Patrick’s thighs, spreading his fingers over warm flesh, loving the contrast of their skin and the goosebumps that erupt beneath his fingers.

When he glances up at Patrick, he catches him staring at Jonny’s hands, transfixed.

Curious, Jonny digs his thumbs into the soft skin of Patrick’s inner thigh and watches as his lashes flutter shut, mouth dropping to let a breathy moan slip out. Jonny presses harder and drags his thumbs towards his other fingers, massaging. A cry spills from Patrick’s lips, and his hips hitch up, chasing the sensation.

Jonny does it again and again and again.

He’s never seen anything as beautiful as Patrick, hands braced on the bed behind him, back arching in an impossible bow.

“Jonny, please,” Patrick cries. “Come on. Please, I need you. I need you.”

The words travel straight to Jonny’s dick, and he shudders, fingers clenching around Patrick’s thighs until his knuckles turn white.

Patrick whines.

Trembling in anticipation, Jonny undoes Patrick’s coat and then his shirt. He stands, shoves the material down Patrick’s arms, and drops it to the floor.

Nearly naked, Patrick is stunning. His stomach is flat and toned, and there’s a gentle swell to his chest that signals his carrier status, the hard buds of his nipples standing in stiff peaks. Jonny has seen him shirtless before, but this is different. They aren’t at the pool, surrounded by family and chaperones who will snap at them to separate if Jonny so much as reaches a hand out. They’re in a private room with soft lighting and luxurious sheets, just the two of them and a bed.

Wetting his lips, Jonny reaches a hand out and traces the dark circle around Patrick’s nipple with the tip of his index finger.

Patrick shivers.

Jonny circles again. Then once more. He tightens the circle each time, bringing his finger closer and closer to the rosy flesh at the center. When he swipes over the nipple, Patrick jumps, chest pressing against Jonny’s hand enough he does it again. Then, he lifts his thumb and carefully rolls the flesh between his fingers.

Patrick’s breath stutters out of him, and he pushes his chest out, seeking more contact.

Jonny rubs over the stiff flesh again, and when Patrick keens, he brings his other hand up and works the opposite nipple between thumb and forefinger. He switches between gentle swipes and hard rolls, and Patrick arches into the touch, open-mouthed as words stream from his lips, pleas for Jonny to never stop and praise for the way he seems to know Patrick’s body on instinct, giving him what he wants before he even knows he wants it.

“Want your mouth, Jonny,” he whines at some point. “Use your mouth.”

Eager, Jonny nudges him back and makes to follow.

“Wait,” Patrick says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Get undressed first. That way we don’t have to worry about it.”

With reluctant acceptance, Jonny backs up and kicks his shoes off, letting the socks follow. His jacket goes next, then his shirt, then his slacks.

When he moves forward again, Patrick stops him. “Those too,” he says, pointing at Jonny’s briefs.

Jonny swallows and swipes his tongue over his lips, suddenly nervous.

“Come on,” Patrick says. “I want to see you.”

“I want to see you, too,” Jonny counters, frowning.

Patrick huffs. “You first.”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

That’s not great logic in Jonny’s opinion.

“Because I want you to,” Patrick amends, lips curling in a pout as he looks at Jonny.

Jonny has a pretty bad track record for denying Patrick anything, and this is no different. Summoning up his courage, he hooks his fingers in his briefs, shoves them down his legs, and steps out of them.

“Oh shit,” Patrick breathes.

When Jonny looks up, his eyes are on Jonny’s dick where it stands stiff and proud, jutting obscenely in the air. His tongue licks over his bottom lip, and Jonny tracks the movement, hands limp at his sides.

Patrick’s gaze flickers up to meet his. “I fucking knew you were huge,” he says, breathless.

Jonny preens.

“Shit, come here,” Patrick tells him, reaching a hand out. “I want to give you a blow job.”

Jonny shivers but stands his ground. “It’s your turn.”

Patrick’s brow furrows. “For a blow job?”

“No. To take those off,” Jonny explains with a jerk of his chin, eyes dropping to Patrick’s briefs.

“Oh.”

Patrick’s fingers flit around his waistband, and Jonny wants to tell him to hurry up. He wants to see him completely bare, exposed for Jonny like he’s never been for anyone else.

Finally, Patrick plants his feet on the mattress, lifts his hips, and pushes the material down his legs. The briefs are wet, soaked with Patrick’s slick and probably sticky, too.

Jonny wants to shove his face between Patrick’s thighs and eat him. He wants to tongue at his rim and thrust inside and taste the perfection that is his wife.

The briefs fall to the ground, and Patrick lays back down, bare except for the crown perched haphazardly in his curls.

“Are you really going to wear that?” Jonny asks.

Patrick arches a brow. “I told you I was, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was a joke, spur of the moment kind of thing.”

Patrick shrugs, a delicate twitch of the shoulders that brings Jonny’s attention back to his nipples. “I decided I liked it.”

The words mostly go over Jonny’s head, but he finds he doesn’t much care to protest. He doesn’t dislike the crown. “Okay.”

“Are you going to come to bed?” Patrick asks, drawing a knee up and out, spreading himself for Jonny’s hungry gaze.

“Fuck yes,” Jonny replies, voice gravely, but he goes to the nightstand first and pulls it open. They need to take stock of the supplies their parents left before things go any further.

Patrick frowns and rolls over, propping his head up to peer into the drawer. He whistles lowly. “How much sex do they think we can have in four days?” he asks, eyeing the various lube and condoms.

“I think they just wanted us to have options,” Jonny answers. “Do you have a preference?”

Patrick looks them over and plucks one out. “I like this one. It’s water-based, so it’ll dry eventually. The silicone-based ones are fun, but they can suck to clean up, and I don’t want to deal with that tonight.”

Jonny nods and rifles through the condoms.

Patrick makes a noise of protest.

“What?”

“I’m on birth control. We don’t need a condom.”

Jonny raises a quizzical brow. “Weren’t you just talking about messes you don’t want to clean up?”

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah, but this isn’t the same. This is a good mess.”

“A good mess?”

“Yup.”

Jonny had always just assumed they would use condoms because that is The Way Things Are Done™, but he doesn’t mind this turn of events.

He pushes the top drawer closed and opens the second. There are boxes stacked to the top. One boasts ‘The Comfiest Handcuffs in the world, as voted by users like you’. Another advertises ‘Five different speeds! Five!’

“Kinky,” Patrick comments.

Jonny nods numbly, trying not to imagine his maman buying any of these for them.

“Do you want to use any of them?”

Jonny blinks. Then, he shakes himself. “No,” he says and shuts the drawer. “I just want it to be us.”

Patrick reclines against the pillows and opens his arms. “You, me, and a bottle of lube, babe. What more could we need?”

Jonny snorts and crawls between his thighs, hands resting on his hips. “Absolutely nothing.”

Beaming, Patrick loops his arms around Jonny’s neck, tugs him down, and sucks the breath right out of his lungs with a thorough kiss. By the end of it, Jonny is light-headed, vision foggy and lungs burning.

“Open me up,” Patrick orders, pressing the lube into his hand. “I’m sick of waiting.”

Jonny fumbles the bottle but manages to keep hold of it, cheeks burning as he slides down Patrick’s body. He settles between his legs and stares at the space between his thighs; it’s wet and glistening, inviting.

He’s tempted to get his mouth on him, but Patrick clearly has other plans because he draws his legs up, hooks his elbows behind his knees, and spreads himself wide for Jonny.

“Fingers in me now,” Patrick says.

Shaking with need, Jonny pops the cap and squirts some onto his fingers. It’s shockingly cold, and he rubs it around until the chill disperses.

“Ready?” he asks, poising a finger at Patrick’s entrance.

“So fucking ready.”

Jonny presses a finger against the rim, and it slides in easy, swallowed up to the third knuckle with no resistance. “Whoa.”

Patrick hums and rocks into it. “Yeah, I’ve been getting ready for this. You could probably add another finger.”

Jonny withdraws the first and slides a second in beside it. There’s some resistance, but it’s minimal.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, tilting his hips. “Move them around some.”

Jonny complies, slipping them out and back in, twisting and turning them, scissoring them until Patrick tells him to add a third. It goes in easy, and Patrick rolls his hips, arms still locked around his knees in an impressive display of flexibility.

Jonny works him over for another minute, watching precome dribble out of his dick and pool on his stomach, before he withdraws his hands and wipes the lube-slick combination on his own dick.

“Yes,” Patrick hisses, watching him. “Oh god, Jonny, please. Please, fuck me. Please, please, fuck me.”

Jonny’s mouth is dry. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Jonny trails his eyes over Patrick’s sweat-sheened stomach, his heaving chest, his pale neck where the marks from earlier still stand out against the skin. Patrick meets his gaze, head-on and determined.

“Okay,” Jonny says. “Okay.” He scoots forward and positions himself at Patrick’s entrance. “You have to tell me if it hurts.”

“I will.”

Nodding, Jonny fixes his gaze on Patrick’s sopping entrance, watching as he feeds him his dick, inch by inch. Patrick moans when the head pops in, slick walls tightening around him, and Jonny grits his teeth against the sensation, not wanting to lose himself this early. He keeps pressing forward, eyes flicking between the place they’re connected and Patrick’s face, checking for any discomfort.

Patrick’s eyes are closed, but his mouth is open, forming a little pink ‘o’ that Jonny wants to lick into.

When he’s buried to the hilt, he pauses. “Good?”

Patrick nods, lashes fluttering. “So good. So good, Jonny. Fuck, you feel good.”

Jonny laughs, breathy and disbelieving. “You feel good. God, Patrick, you feel amazing.”

Cracking an eye open, Patrick peers down at him and grins. “Yeah?”

Jonny nods, emphatic. “You feel good. You look good. You sound good.”

Patrick’s grin turns filthy, and he grips his legs tighter. “Good enough to fuck?” he asks.

Jonny’s hips twitch at the question, pulling in and out of Patrick’s body in a shallow thrust. They both groan.

“Jonny,” Patrick pleads. “Jonny, come on.”

Jonny thrusts again, no real power behind the movement, and watches Patrick arch off the bed.

“Jonny,” he gasps.

Jonny thrusts again, getting his knees beneath him. He plants his hands beside Patrick’s head and thrusts again.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The next press of his hips is harder and faster, more certain with every second that Patrick spends moaning beneath him, begging for more.

“Give it to me, Jonny. Make me feel it. I want to still feel it tomorrow.”

Jonny thrusts in twice more, and Patrick babbles in response.

“More, more.”

Falling into the rhythm of it, Jonny pulls out and presses back in with sharp thrusts, crushing his hips against the thick swell of Patrick’s ass. He curls his hands into fists, bracing them on the bed for extra leverage, and watches with immense satisfaction as Patrick gasps and writhes, hand slipping around his legs.

An idea occurs to him, and he slows.

Patrick whimpers in protest.

“Open your eyes, Patrick,” he says, coming to a stop despite the heavy need sitting in his gut.

“What?” Patrick whines, pretty blue eyes peeking out to glare at Jonny.

Jonny smiles and sits back, sliding out of Patrick who makes his displeasure known immediately.

“What the fuck, Jonny? What are you doing? Get back here.”

“Hold on,” he says. “Hold on.”

Patrick pouts, but he falls silent.

Jonny pats his thigh. “Do you think you could get your legs over my shoulders? Then you wouldn’t have to try and hold them.”

Patrick inhales sharply, “Shit,” and hikes his legs up, tossing them over Jonny’s shoulders with ease.

Nodding, Jonny leans forward and tests the angle. Patrick’s face doesn’t change. “You are flexible, aren’t you?”

Patrick’s answering grin is sharp and victorious. “This is nothing. I’ve got a million positions crazier than this that I want to try.”

Jonny arches a brow and reaches a hand between them, getting ahold of his dick and guiding it back into Patrick, who tosses his head back and moans like he’s auditioning for a porno. Jonny smirks (maybe he’s getting a hang of what Patrick wants) and eases himself out and back in a couple times.

When he’s satisfied, he presses up onto his knees. “Are you ready?”

Patrick nods. “Fuck yes.”

Then Jonny leans forward, grips the headboard, and thrusts.

He has more leverage in this position, and he snaps his hips in quick succession, barely giving them time to breathe between each thrust. Patrick’s hands scrabble over their skin, sliding across his sweat-slick back and gripping at his own thighs, and Jonny thrusts harder, measuring his success by the way Patrick’s voice cracks around each moan.

“Jonny, Jonny, Jonny,” Patrick cries, moving his hips in tight little circles because he can’t do anything more, legs nearly pressed to his chest.

“Come on, Patrick,” he grunts, fingers white-knuckled around the headboard. “I want to see. Let me see.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. “Yeah, want you to see. So good, Jonny. You’re so good.”

Jonny’s thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm as he begins to lose control. “Touch yourself, baby. I want to see.”

Patrick practically sobs when he wraps a hand around his own erection, and Jonny’s already broken rhythm falls apart.

Patrick rubs his thumb over the head of his dick, circling, circling, and Jonny keeps working him from the inside, fighting off his own orgasm because he needs to see Patrick go first.

“Patrick,” he groans.

Patrick nods, eyes screwed shut, thumb working, and he seizes with a sharp inhale, back arching off the bed as he paints his chest with come.

Jonny stares, speechless, and gets in another two thrusts before he’s following Patrick over the edge, pleasure overwhelming him as he comes inside Patrick.

In the aftermath, Patrick’s legs slide off Jonny’s shoulders, and Jonny curls over him, barely finding the strength to hold himself up. Patrick cards a hand through his sweaty hair, murmuring praise and sweet nothings that make Jonny tremble with aftershocks.

When he can finally lift his head, he finds Patrick already watching him, gaze fond. “Good?” he croaks, and Patrick grins.

“The best. I feel like I just got pounded by a jackhammer.” Jonny’s brow furrows, bemused, and Patrick swipes his fingers across the skin, wiping away the wrinkles. “It’s a compliment, Jonny.”

Jonny frowns, and Patrick leans up for a kiss, nipping at his lips until Jonny loosens up.

“Thank you,” he says, hands soothing over Jonny’s back. “For the bites, for my hips, for the best fuck of my life.”

“The only fuck of your life,” Jonny grumbles.

“Still the best,” Patrick shrugs. “And thanks for listening and trusting me.”

Jonny props himself up on an elbow, head heavy and eyes hazy. “Of course,” he replies. “I love you, Patrick.”

Patrick hums, pleased, “Love you, too,” and Jonny pecks his lips.

“Do you want a shower?”

Patrick shifts beneath him and blinks slowly, eyelids dropping. “Yeah, but only if you’re willing to hold me up the whole time.”

Jonny snorts and slides out of Patrick’s embrace. “I mean, it’ll be a hardship, all that naked skin I’d have to touch, but I think you could convince me.”

Patrick grins and flings a hand out, making Jonny help him up. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

Laughter bursts out of Jonny, and he wraps a supportive arm around Patrick’s waist. “Very persuasive,” he agrees, and they head for the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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